Star Wars: The Golden Saber
by Magess
Summary: What if the Jedi Council isn't all that it claims to be? What if the heart of their teaching is a lie? What if love doesn't lead inevitably to the Dark Side? What if Obi-Wan never stopped Anakin and Padme because he knew this to be true? What if balance in the Force is not and endless battle of Light against Dark, but acceptance of all the shades of gray?
1. The Atrium

**OBI-WAN**

They walked through the Temple's atrium, a bone-white bowl capped with glass and the piercing sky. Obi-Wan paced slowly to match his steps to the click of Yoda's cane on the stone floor and bent, out of habit, waiting for him to speak. He crossed his arms into the sleeves of his robe and adopted patience.

 _Click._

 _Click._

Younglings, padawans, and force-sensitive layfolk hurried in and out of the atrium nexus, attending to the needs of the day. The Jedi were ever on missions, and children needed to be taught. The Temple was a hive, and they each moved about their roles. Obi-Wan cast glances at those that passed by and let his eyes roam over the very few, very small trees kept perfectly coiffed on the perimeter. They had looked the same as long as he could remember, and he drew a comfort from that. Qui-Gon had known these same trees, as Anakin would—a species for which a human lifespan was but a breath.

Master Yoda sniffed audibly, and Obi-Wan brought his attention back, stopping when the cane remained planted where it was.

"An assignment for you, I have," the old master said, and peered up. His long green ears twitched with something Obi-Wan had long ago decided was mischief.

He arched an eyebrow. "Go on."

"In a month, the Star Bloom festival will be." He lifted his cane and motioned toward a wall, vaguely in the direction of the Senate Chamber several miles across town. "Important to the Republic," he said gravely.

Obi-Wan smirked. "Everyone enjoys a good party"—Yoda cut a look at him—"so I'm told," he finished placidly.

The old master hmphed and started walking again, dragging Obi-Wan slowly with him. "Participate we shall."

Shock straightened Obi-Wan's spine. Participate? "In the parade?" The Order hadn't done that in years.

Yoda nodded and _clicked, clicked_ in the direction of the Council chambers. "Organize you must, a show of arms. A demonstration for the Senate. Valued, the Order should be."

The declaration brought Obi-Wan to a stop, and he frowned down with a growing sense of consternation. "You want to... show off? To the Senate?"

Master Yoda turned and gazed at him, with one of those looks that felt like it saw more. Obi-Wan became conscious of the sensation of his own breathing and the tenor of his thoughts. Then Yoda bowed his head once in assent.

"Why?" Obi-Wan's voice may have come out louder and more offended than he'd intended. _Valued?_ Since when was their service, their _sacrifice_ not valued?

The old master's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "Always a performance politics must be. Reform Chancellor Palpatine seeks. Change. Serve Valorum faithfully the Jedi have done."

Obi-Wan scowled. "Serve the _Republic_ the Jedi have done."

A shrug, and Master Yoda continued his slow trek. "Support us they will, if given reason."

Obi-Wan dug his hands further into his sleeves in agitation and took a few long strides to catch up. "A show of arms," he echoed after a moment's thought. "A threat?"

Yoda slanted a look up at him, ears twitching. "A reminder of the Force."

Not _exactly_ a threat. Just not _not_ one either. Obi-Wan had been trained mostly in lightsaber techniques. If they were coming to him to... arrange a pageant—the words tasted strange and bitter in his head—then the Council must know what sort of show they'd be getting and the kind of message that was likely to send. Their choice, the only Jedi in recent memory to kill a Sith, was not an arbitrary one.

"Master—"

"Master Yoda!" a voice broke in, and Obi-Wan glanced up to see a woman in a consular's gold tabard running in their direction. She waved one hand and juttered to a halt in front of them, breathless, and clutching a collection of paper books, datapads, and flimsis to her chest.

"Master Yoda, the Asyr Study? It's been so"—her gaze briefly caught on something above his head and then flicked back down—"I can't remember how—which—" She stopped herself forcibly. Pressed her eyes shut. Breathed and hugged everything tighter. "I'm _late_." It came out a proclamation.

Obi-Wan blinked at the rush of words and junk heap of half-thoughts, but Master Yoda simply lifted one hand and pointed a claw toward the far end of the room with a chortle.

"Down three. On the right, stay."

The woman bobbed. "Yes," thinking. And then, "Yes!" brightly when she seemed to connect to what he'd said in a new, more useful way. She turned, darted a few steps away, and then abruptly stopped and rushed back toward Obi-Wan, as though noticing him for the first time.

He lifted his eyebrows at her in question.

"Hi! Sorry, I—" She shuffled the materials in her arms to get a hand free and shoved it in his direction. "Aylee Desai," she said, and then dropped the datapads before he had a chance to react. "Blast!" She crouched to gather them back, muttering to herself from behind a curtain of white-gold hair.

Obi-Wan bent to pick up the pad that had collided with his foot and placed it carefully on the rebuilt stack in her arms.

She smiled tightly, embarrassed and quickly turning red, and bobbed again."And you are?"

"Uh, Obi-Wan Kenobi." He frowned, not sure why his own name sounded like a question. Or why her gaze had slipped to the side, clearly tracking someone else. He started to turn and look when her attention found him again and pinned him in place with the deep brown of her eyes.

"Right. Well, thank you," she said to him, and "Thank you," again to Master Yoda. And then, quickly, "I've got to _go_ ," before rushing in the direction of the elevators and, presumably, the Asyr Study.

Obi-Wan stared after her and then pivoted slowly toward Master Yoda. "What... was that."

"Stressed," the older master replied.

He huffed. "You aren't kidding."

Then Obi-Wan stepped back to Master Yoda's side and slipped his hands into his sleeves.

"Long she has been gone," Yoda added. He narrowed his eyes in the direction she had disappeared and flexed his ears before looking up. "The festival, Obi-Wan."

He drew a breath and sighed. Glorified party-planner hadn't been high on his list of dream occupations. And pandering to Senators held little appeal. But... if the Council thought it was important, a good use of his time...

"A demonstration," he said, resigned. "I'll see what I can do."

Master Yoda made a displeased sound, and Obi-Wan caught himself with a wry smile. "I'll see that it's done," he amended.

The old Jedi huffed, grinned, and turned away. "Good day, Master Kenobi," he said, and _clicked, clicked_ toward one of the towers.

Obi-Wan stood for a time in the atrium's clean spaciousness, letting its calm fill his senses. "Good day, Master Yoda," he replied quietly.


	2. Jedi Archives

**AYLEE**

They dimmed the lights in the Archive at night—she couldn't recall if she'd even known that—perhaps in deference to a time when Coruscant ever slept. The whole structure took on a somber, more ancient air as the white lights warmed into reddened dusk. Row upon row of datacrons glowed steadily in their casks, blue and nearby stars. Aylee's end of one of the long tables was ensconced in a halo of yellowish light meant, she supposed, to imitate candles. Everything a simulacrum of a _real_ thing.

She tapped on a datapad, entering notes. Picked up one of the decrees of Duro monarch Rana Mas Trehalt and read it. Again. Partway. Dropped it and switched to a map of Duro's surface, muttering as she traced a finger along a valley, then shuffled through a stack of datapads for the one on climate change, their slick, hard surfaces clicking against one another loudly in the quiet hall.

Her mind raced with the possibilities. History might have been wrong. She thought it was wrong. A few more hurried notes, and then she unfurled a paper copy of one of Rana's last decrees, written in the original dialect. _Damn rusty Duro._ She scowled and opened a dictionary on her lap, balancing it so she could hold the paper scroll open and translate.

And she hadn't touched the holocron still buried in her bag yet! Who knew what lay in there.

Her hands, her attention flitted between the gathered records, alighting on a point, a detail, and then off again to another, mapping a web of references in her mind that she tried and forgot and reminded herself to write down. The queen, convention said, drove her people to disaster, her planet to ruin. But the Rana Mas who spoke through her decrees... Aylee could not believe that that woman was as corrupt, as _blind_ , as the histories said. It was intuition on her part, perhaps. A sense of knowing someone so long dead that her dust had returned to the stars.

But it was a knowledge that burned. And she intended to prove it. Greed had brought down the Duro monarchy. The greed of nameless enterprise, elaborate legal fictions. The type of greed described as a force of nature to those unable to see beyond its horizon. Greed was as inevitable as a dying star to such constructs. For a machine built to consume, consumption is the only law of the universe. How could it be otherwise?

Aylee rubbed at her temple and stifled a yawn. She turned in the hard chair, noticing for the first time an ache in her back, and called, "Tir-Zen!" in a voice pitched for libraries. She needed more on Duro food production and industrialization. A sketch of the palace. Someone to hold this damned scroll.

A moment later an arm reached past her and set a cup on the table, well out of range of elbows and the corpses of books. Aylee blinked at it, at the steam rising and the welcome aroma of fresh caf. She set the scroll aside and stretched for it, greedily, wrapping the cup in both hands. She smiled up at her padawan as he took a seat at her side.

"What would I do without you?" she said, and took a sip. It spread through her like nectar. A soft, sweet wave of contentment.

Tir-Zen turned to her, his tan skin deeper in the low light, and blinked slowly, grinning—an Iridonian preen. "Sleep, maybe," came his rasping reply, sandpaper scrubbing.

She narrowed her eyes at him and drank a little more. Already she could feel the threads in her mind drawing closer to one another, some thickening, some fading away. The details that picked at her attention lost their shine, and she could feel a calm center starting to bloom. She gazed at her array of research materials and tried to imagine them falling into order, feeling her way through what she knew and needed to know. She clutched her cup and drank, thoughtfully.

"Will Rana Mas be dead tomorrow?" Tir-Zen asked, breaking what, in retrospect, may have been quite a long silence.

Aylee swiveled her gaze from her desk to look at him. Tir-Zen sat balancing his chair on its edge, with his boots kicked up on the table and his hands clasped easily behind his head. Black undershirt, cream tunic, gray tabard. He was the very picture of confidence and nonchalance, and by all appearances was studying something high in the Archive ceiling. It was all very precisely calculated for the effect, and Aylee leveled a look at him.

Under the pressure of her gaze, he finally turned. The angle of the light from the lamp lit his eyes like fire, and the tattoos from his coming of age took on the specter of deep shadows, misshaping his face. Despite it, he managed to project utter innocence.

Aylee narrowed her eyes. "Feet off the table."

Tir-Zen's guileless expression—an abject lie—broke into a smirk and he dropped the chair back onto all its feet and swung his legs down, opting instead to stretch out.

Aylee glanced back at her collected research, knowledge she hadn't had access to until a few days ago, and took his point. Even if she had no intention of telling him so. Twenty-five thousand years plus one day would hardly make a difference. But it was strong, the need to _prove,_ after a decade of study, what she'd always felt to be true. To publish for the whole galaxy to see. It would change...history. Literally.

Perhaps the Temple would be a permanent placement, then.

Surely the Council couldn't overlook a contribution to the understanding of galactic history.

Envy and jealousy were not a Jedi's way.

But she could long for things. Like these stacks.

Aylee let her gaze travel up from her work to the darkened, empty rows of tables, the glowing datacron shelving twenty feet high, the vaulted ceiling encasing them all with its sunset sky. The archivist in her could imagine no greater honor than shepherding the chronicle of the known universe into place. Guarding truth. Expanding knowledge. The Republic kept its memory in the Archives; that which is remembered still lives.

She spun her chair so she and Tir-Zen stretched out in opposite directions and scooted until they were side by side, sloshing a bit of her caf onto her hand and gold tabard. She tsked and sucked the drops from her fingers.

"So." She turned her newly gained focus on him. "Tell me about your day."

Tir-Zen's expression split into a smile, and the boy in him returned some. "I went to a lightsaber training session!" he said.

She lifted her eyebrows, encouraging him to go on.

"The training master said he was surprised to see me," he rasped.

Aylee's back stiffened as her hackles instantly rose. "Why? Because you're a Zabrack?" Her tone sliced the hush of the Archive, and she started to sit up, only stopping at Tir-Zen's easing gesture.

He shook his head. "No! No... He said he didn't know I'd been taken as an apprentice. I think...he remembered me as a child."

Aylee let go of her anger in a calming sigh and then reached out. She hooked a finger around one of the horns that ran in double rows down Tir-Zen's head, like racing stripes. "Well"—she tugged a little, smiling—"you do stand out."

He bent into the gesture and returned her grin, obliging and patient with his master as ever. Aylee wrapped her hands around her mug again and looked at him. Almost ready to be a knight.

"I do you no credit as a master," she said softly, a wistful pain needling at her chest.

He frowned and met her gaze squarely. "Why would you say that?"

She shrugged and looked up around them. The Jedi Temple. The heart of the Order. And they, so many years gone...

"Well, you're wrong," Tir-Zen said, his voice only a rough whisper. "My training would have ended. I'd be fixing the Temple's skypods."

"You like fixing skypods."

"I _like_ being a Jedi."

And fixing skypods, she added in her own mind. Aylee glanced at him and offered a small smile, unsure what had brought on her mood. She took a sip of caf and settled further into her robes.

"So you went to a training class..."

Tir-Zen nodded vigorously and held his hands up in a ready position. "Ataru!" He said the word like it cast magic. "The training master led us through two katas. It was"—he searched for the word—"exhilarating!"

Aylee laughed.

"And then after, we had a free session against droid opponents. I threw my saber, and the room just...it went silent." Tir-Zen's orange eyes danced with his excitement. "It was like they'd never seen it before! The other learners gathered around me. They made me do it again. And they cheered when I hit a droid!"

Aylee smiled into her caf until her cheeks hurt.

"I think...they thought it was exotic."

At that, she chuckled. "Because they're learning lightsabers, and throwing is more a force technique." She shrugged at him. "You could do it with a broom."

Tir-Zen made a low hum of assent and leaned back in his chair to watch the ceiling. "We should tell the cleaning staff," he said.

Aylee smirked and gave his horns a tug, making him wheeze out a laugh. They fell into a silence, and Aylee found herself wondering what he made of all this.

"Tee."

He glanced over.

Aylee set her empty cup aside. "I don't... know why we've been summoned back. What changed the Council's mind. Or...or how long this sudden luck of ours is going to last." She watched his throat bob in a swallow, but he said nothing, so she pressed on. "I want you to concentrate on learning the things I can't teach you. Like your lightsaber forms."

"You taught me forms."

"Only a few," she replied, shaking her head. "Because that's all consulars need to know. And you know it's not my strength."

His silence was as good as agreement.

"So. Just promise me?"

Tir-Zen's expression grew troubled, and he clacked his teeth once before nodding. "Do you really think—"

"I don't know. That's...that's the problem. And I don't want to cost you more than I already have."

She stood and jiggled his front horn lightly. "Come on. Help me put these back." She turned and started picking up the old paper books. "We won't get much sleep as it is, and we have class tomorrow!"


	3. Jedi Temple

**OBI-WAN**

Not every Jedi wakes with the rising sun. Some species are even naturally nocturnal. But Qui-Gon had made it a point to let the sunrise touch his face each morning, before commencing with his day. That rhythm still ran through Obi-Wan's veins, and he let the light fall across his closed eyelids for just long enough to feel the heat. It sank, deep and bittersweet, unfolding in his chest a feeling that was sometimes grief, sometimes memory-a phrase, a feeling, a voice he would not hear again. He could never tell which it would be, until he stood alone in the garden and let the light touch him.

The moment passed.

He made his way to the training room through white, polished halls. Anakin would sleep until his first class of the day, leaving his master a few blessed hours free. Under antiseptic lights, Obi-Wan stripped to his short-sleeved shirt and pants and left a folded stack of tunic, belt, tabard, and boots on the shelving in the dressing room. He clipped a metal bracelet around his wrist and extracted two thin synthetic dots from the device's dispenser, pressing one into each ear. The earbuds buzzed as they made connection to the base, and Obi-Wan stepped barefoot out into the training room as he _tapped, tapped_ on the wrist tuner, cycling to a playlist of Correllian Hardstyle.

The music thumped into him with a bassy, driving beat transmitted straight into his skull. He could hear conversations, still... if they shouted. Which was as much sacrifice as he was willing to make to situational awareness.

He gave himself, for a moment, to the energy of the music. He brushed his hand back through his hair, longer than he was used to now that he'd decided to grow it out like a proper master. He shook out his hands, his arms. Bounced on the balls of his feet to its beat. And then launched into an easy jog around the track at the edge of the room.

After a circuit, the rhythm quickened, and he pushed himself to match.

Five laps and his body was warming to the exertion, loosening. He panted and kept going, driven by the thump in his ears, the anger in the sound. His thoughts grew indistinct with each footfall as he moved, until he was simply motion. Effortless, singing. Fleet and flying.

He put no Force into it. His own body needed to be strong, resilient. Stripped of everything, his life may one day depend on the mettle of muscle and bone.

So he ran.

And when he had lost count of how many laps he'd run and his thighs burned from the effort, he let himself stop, coming to a slow and gasping walk. He meandered the floor, sucking air like a bellows as his heart hammered. Sweat gathered at the small of his back as he paced and let himself recover.

After a few minutes, while his legs still felt hot and liquid, he moved on to the first real training of the day. On a shelf built into the wall, he found a roll of elasticized gauze with a loop for the thumb. He let out a long, slow breath and started wrapping his knuckles, left hand first. He counted each revolution of the tape, purposefully. He could have done the wrapping blindfolded, but the counting kept his attention in the moment.

Thrice around the wrist. Once around the thumb. Thrice around the knuckles. Cross back. Then the fingers. Deliberate and careful. Testing the range of motion.

He pressed the end of the wrap into place, and the fabric's adhesive sealed it on.

Obi-Wan let it be a meditation as he fixed the wrappings over his right hand and then punched his fists together to test the padding. His breath and heart rate had returned to normal by the time he was done, and he switched music choices on the bracelet as he approached the heavy bag hovering between glowing discs.

 _Calm your mind._

 _Focus your attention._

He pressed his right fist into his left palm and bowed ever so slightly to the equipment he was about to test himself against. He measured the distance to the bag with one arm.

And then he began.

This, too, was unaided, raw ability. He jabbed. Threw doubles to get warm. And then let his body slip into the memory of its training. Right, right left. Left, left right.

His punches hit the bag with satisfying impact.

The combinations flew faster and more complicated. Obi-Wan's lungs started to burn with the effort.

He moved his attention elsewhere, to his knuckles, to the hit. Everything shoved to the edges of his mind, leaving only this. The movement.

Right, right-

He lunged with an elbow strike, rebounded, and with his feet now unstuck made it a dance. Circle, jab, strike. Around. Free. Sweat, dripping.

He thought... of nothing.

And let his movements flow until he could no longer ignore the pain in his limbs without using the Force to do so.

Shaking, he stopped and slumped against the bag, letting it take his weight. Sweat dripped down his face and dampened his hair into clumps. His legs quivered with the effort to remain standing, and his panted breaths fogged against polished nuck leather. After a second, he pushed away leaving a wet smear on the surface and ambled to the station where he could undo his knuckle wraps and deposit them for washing.

He clicked off the music and let his gaze wander as his body cooled. The wrapping spooled off of one hand methodically as he watched training sabers cut soundlessly through the air in the hands of padawans. His breathing calmed as he dropped a strip of fabric in the receptacle and moved onto the other hand.

Then his attention caught at the far end of the room. The Zabrak boy from the day before.

Obi-Wan watched him step through the second movement of the kata he'd shown them. Wide, sweeping strokes of the blade. He swung up from the left, then right, not quite moving his arms enough. His stance was off, too. Those strokes were meant to disarm, sometimes quite literally. The weight had to be right to get enough power.

Distractedly, Obi-Wan discarded the second wrap and padded across the gymnasium, watching the student's form. He finished the second movement and started over at the beginning, too focused on his own workout to notice that Obi-Wan had come to observe. If he'd been a krayt dragon, the boy would've been dead.

The first movement ends with a spinning slash.

The boy completed it before stumbling to a halt, aware at last of Obi-Wan's attention.

He lowered the saber and stared at him with shocking, orange eyes. "Master," he said, his odd voice like a sussurus of dry leaves. He composed himself into a bow, clasping the saber hilt backwards in his hands to direct the blade toward the floor.

Respect from a padawan? Obi-Wan almost didn't know what to make of it he'd gotten so used to Anakin. He smiled a little and returned the gesture.

"You're practicing yesterday's class," he said, and crossed his arms over his chest.

The boy glanced around, unsure if it was an accusation. "Yes, master."

Obi-Wan tipped his head to the side, going over the faults he'd noted while he'd been watching. "That was your first introduction to Ataru?"

The reply was a single nod and a wary look.

Obi-Wan dropped his arms to his sides. "Remind me your name again?"

"Tir-Zen, sir."

 _Sir?_ He might faint dead away.

"Tir-Zen," he said, with a kind look and nod. "Would you like me to go through it again?"

The reticence in the young man melted. "Would you?"

He laughed and went to grab one of the training sabers off a nearby rack. For an eager student? What wouldn't he do?

They took some adjustment, the training sabers. A real lightsaber is all hilt, all weight in and below your hands combined with inertial resistance. The balance is difficult, the hardest part of learning to handle one, and sometimes impossible without using the Force to your advantage. Training sabers are a composite of light wood and metal, which do their best to imitate the off-balance of having no blade but are, nevertheless, the full length that an activated lightsaber would be. They worked well enough. And didn't take off limbs.

Obi-Wan led him through the first and second movements of the first kata again, then stood back and watched as he repeated it, making adjustments, offering comments. He swung too lightly, as though he didn't expect to meet resistance, which there was one sure way to fix. Obi-Wan stepped in front of him, saber at the ready.

Their weapons clacked as they paced through attacks and parries. Obi-Wan ordered him to strike hard, and he did, finally putting his weight in the right spot.

"Good! Like that, every time. Like you have to cut through the air to get to me!"

Tir-Zen smiled, hopped back, started again. By the time he finished the second movement Obi-Wan's hands buzzed from the repeated impacts and he could feel his heart thumping from the exertion. He stepped back and lowered the sword.

"Better. Much better," he told him, smiling.

Tir-Zen grinned back and blinked once, slowly, at him. A mystery, this one. He'd come from nowhere, and untrained in arguably the most common saber form. Obi-Wan set the point of the training saber on the floor and leaned his weight on it, contemplating. The boy just watched him, waiting for either dismissal or some kind of cue. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes in thought.

"Would you mind showing me your best form?" he asked, more curious than anything, but maybe it would help him understand a little better how to teach Tir-Zen what he so obviously wanted to learn. It couldn't hurt to see where his strength lie, at any rate.

The boy blinked at him for a second and then bowed again and set his training saber down on the floor next to his towel, water bottle, and lightsaber. He picked up his real saber and checked around himself for adequate space.

After a moment's thought, he moved a few more paces away.

Something shivered at the back of Obi-Wan's neck as he watched Tir-Zen take his stance and turn his saber on. The green blade hummed into being.

It was the opening stance of Niman.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow but kept his attention centered. He had asked for a demonstration and was being obliged. A kata is made of movements, and a form made of katas. Tir-Zen moved into the first Niman kata with simple ease. It started small; the movements a series of controlled parries and counterattacks so fluid they seemed an afterthought. He moved across the mat like a dancer, flowing with each movement. Waves against a beach, attack, retreat.

His lightsaber cut the air with a steady rhythm.

Kata the second.

The slow oscillation of his motion picked up speed. He ducked, attacked. Jumped back, attacked. The point of his sword driving forward as often as the flat of the blade. His grip switched as needed, one hand, two, the blade whipping to either side and back to center. Still he moved around the mat with footwork fit for a dueler.

It was odd. But effective.

The second kata ended; and Obi-Wan stood a little straighter as a _third_ began. His skin prickled. He'd never seen a third Niman...

Tir-Zen cut away from himself with a sharp up stroke and stretched a hand out, curling his fingers as he brought them back to the saber hilt.

Medicine balls across the room lifted and darted toward him, as he lunged and recovered. They swooped through the air just beyond his saber's reach, drawing a mobius strip. His lightsaber flashed forward. A medicine ball dipped. Another slash, another dart.

It looked like performance art, until Obi-Wan realized what they were: missiles.

Tir-Zen kept them in the air, circling, swinging in to attack from behind as he parried. They filled the spaces his lightsaber could not, the angles out of his reach. It was all coordinated, each movement of the kata a dance between the lightsaber and the missiles, never touching, constantly barraging.

 _Intricate._ Obi-Wan stared.

Kata the fourth.

Tir-Zen pulled the missiles in close and then thrust them back, the equivalent of a force push. He changed the pattern of their motion as he swung his saber in a figure eight. They became gears, striking downward at the space in front of him. He stepped back. And back. And back. Pressed on his speed until the lightsaber sang around him, a green shell of a shield forming to the naked eye.

One missile joined in the motion, sweeping between and around the stokes of the blade.

Then the other.

Everything blurred into a dome of light and dark as he reached maximum velocity.

And then he stopped.

Lightsaber held poised at eye level like a blaster, his body crouched into a lunge. The medicine balls hovered in line with the saber's blade, still as though painted in the air. Nothing moved.

Tir-Zen flicked off the blade.

The missles hit the mat with a thud.

Obi-Wan let out his held breath in an awestruck rush, as Tir-Zen set his lightsaber back on the mat and faced him. He shifted uneasily and lifted his eyebrows. He was waiting, Obi-Wan realized, for an assessment.

"That," he said slowly, trying to usher his thoughts into words, "was remarkable."

Tir-Zen grinned, relief and pride evident on his face.

The Force control alone...

Obi-Wan wasn't sure he could have done what he'd just witnessed. "You might even be able to teach me a thing or two," he added.

He twirled the training saber around experimentally and glanced at Tir-Zen out of the corner of his eye. The boy watched him with interest, tracking his steps and turning to face him as he brought them into alignment with the length of the room. Obi-Wan looked down at the saber in his hand and made a show of slowly glancing up to meet Tir-Zen's gaze.

"Defend yourself," he said, and clicked on the weapon's power.

Tir-Zen held out his hand and his training saber snapped into it.

Obi-Wan attacked, not giving him time to prepare. He closed the distance between them in a blink and swung a wide arc from the side. Tir-Zen had turned his blade on as well, and the two met with sizzling crack and repulse. He turned the movement into another swing and drove hard.

Tir-Zen parried, gave ground, and tried to strike at his leg.

He batted the saber aside and spun, aiming for a two-handed, disarming blow. They connected with a shearing scream of electricity. Obi-Wan had the better angle and shoved, throwing his opponent off balance.

The gymnasium went quiet around them as everyone turned to watch.

Tir-Zen gave up his balance and ducked, robbing Obi-Wan of resistance, and he ran forward to keep his feet. Spun, and found the boy coming at him. Parry. Riposte. Standard stuff to keep each other in motion.

Obi-Wan's heart pounded with the thrill of combat, adrenaline coursing into his system. He slashed at every opening, constantly moving in, driving Tir-Zen back.

The padawan noticed. He deflected a vicious slash and threw out his hand.

The push hit Obi-Wan's chest like a bantha bull. The air crushed from his lungs as he flew up and back. He had mind enough to turn the momentum into a flip and landed on his feet instead of his backside, but only barely. He touched ground with one hand to the mat, the saber held long behind him.

Pain squeezed his ribs as he tried to draw a breath. Tir-Zen should be attacking, but that wasn't his way.

At least not yet.

Obi-Wan sucked in a gulp of air at last and drew Force power into himself. He tensed. Then put on a burst of speed. The boy stood his ground.

Until he didn't.

Obi-Wan barely saw what happened. He'd been moving at a blur. His target vanished as he arrived, blade slicing at nothing.

Tir-Zen tossed his saber spinning into the air and dove, springing with supernatural speed. He got clear, rolled into a crouch, and called the saber to his hand. With Obi-Wan in the way.

The blade swept through the air, a flat crackling disc of energy. Obi-Wan hopped gracelessly to the side and shoved his saber in the way to keep from getting tagged on the ass. He turned as the weapon reached Tir-Zen's hand. _Clever boy._

He smiled wickedly, thrumming with the Force's vitality.

A medicine ball started to rise to his left, and Obi-Wan swept it away with a hard push, sending it across the gymnasium. In the second he spared to track where it landed, Tir-Zen came at him.

Two attacks like he was used to, fluid and conservative.

The boy hesitated. He lifted his saber into a new position.

It was the split second of indecision and the balance that got him. He hit hard, aggressive, but left his side open.

Obi-Wan countered, spun, and slapped him across the back with the blade.

Tir-Zen let out a surprised cry of pain and fell onto one knee.

If they'd been real sabers, he would be dead.

Panting, Obi-Wan shut off the saber's electricity field and leaned his weight onto it for a second. He mopped his brow with his sleeve and watched as Tir-Zen stood slowly, shaking his head.

"You were good," he told him quickly, between breaths.

Tir-Zen looked at him and made a face, an expression made more fearsome by his tattoos. "I still lost."

Obi-Wan shrugged and motioned for him to follow to the saber rack. "Because you tried to use something you just learned." Tir-Zen made a sound. "It's exactly what you _should_ do. With a little practice, you'll start to see how it fits with your style. Plus"—he snapped the training saber back into its case—"you almost had me a few times."

Tir-Zen's head jerked to look at him. "I did?"

He laughed lightly. "If you'd seen it." And his pride was glad that he hadn't.

Tir-Zen turned to face him squarely and held the saber between his hands like he had earlier to perform a bow.

 _Oddly formal, this one,_ Obi-Wan thought.

"Thank you, Master," Tir-Zen rasped.

Obi-Wan grinned at him and returned the bow with mostly good form. Everything ached. "Thank _you_ for an exhilarating morning."

His limbs felt warm and heavy with use, and his ribs ached with each breath—a familiar sort of pain that washed him clean and left him grounded in the present. A good present, bursting with energy. Obi-Wan found himself smiling.

Fun. He couldn't remember the last time a workout had been _fun_.

The thought made him grin wider, and he lost track of his steps as he walked, striding through the Temple with seeming purpose while his mind played over the maneuvers Tir-Zen had demonstrated, the ingenuity of form. He'd put off thinking about Master Yoda's assignment. It chafed. "Impress the Senate." Daily, the Order did the Senate's work, flinging Jedi across the galaxy to rescue, protect, free—was that not impressive?

But then...

Hadn't he been staring slack-jawed at an apprentice's command of the Force, merely slinging weights around?

Unless you were the one being rescued, it didn't look like much—not something a hired guard couldn't do.

Obi-Wan sighed and rolled his neck, conceding, even if just to himself, that Master Yoda had a point. The Star Bloom festival would draw crowds from across the galaxy. Pack Coruscant with the rich and starving alike, dignitaries to drug dealers all vying for an edge, a profit, a front page spread. Planets could be won and lost in the back halls. Careers made. Spines snapped. Depended on where you were.

It was the galaxy's biggest party, held in the heart of the Republic.

A new sense of responsibility settled onto Obi-Wan's shoulders as he turned down the hall in the dormitory toward the apartment he shared with Anakin. On autopilot, he waved a hand in the direction of the door panel and stepped into the room as the door flicked out of his way.

He froze as a billow of black smoke rolled over his head and out into the hall.

The chaos assaulted him from all sides at once. An oil slick of fire ran across the kitchen floor, churning out a black cloud, while the sprinkler system spewed a useless rainstorm that only spread the oil farther. Green and silver fluids ran in rivulets from the kitchen. Across the room, a sparking droid drove itself repeatedly into the ceiling with a _clang_ , _clang_ , accompanied by Anakin's shouts as he jumped and swung at it, trying to catch a cable. The tables and chairs in the kitchen lay on their sides. The couches upturned. And the— _clang—_ ceiling panels dented.

Obi-Wan blinked in a moment of petrified astonishment.

Anakin missed another leap toward the droid and turned to look at him, his hair plastered to his skull.

Obi-Wan couldn't have stopped the scowl if he tried. And he had little interest in trying. His gaze flicked to the droid, and he lifted a hand, pointing two fingers at it.

Anakin's eyes widened.

With a small effort, Obi-Wan gripped the droid on its way back up.

"Nononono!" Anakin said in a rush.

The droid imploded with an audible crunch, and Anakin howled his dismay as Obi-Wan let it drop to the floor.

"You broke it!" The boy threw his hands up.

"It was already broken."

The boy turned, his face pinched with regret. "I was fixing it."

The line of oil fire spread across the room, cutting the direct path between them.

"Is _that_ what you call this?" Obi-Wan gestured at the licking fire.

Anakin drew to breath to answer.

"Don't—" Obi-Wan bit out the word. He spread his hand at the flames and willed the oxygen elsewhere, smothering the slick until it was just another pool of spilled fluids.

When the flames extinguished, the sprinkler system slowed to a mist, and then finally shut off. Obi-Wan stood in silence for a moment surveying their drenched, sullied apartment, while water _dripped_ , _dripped_ loud as a drum. His frown burrowed deeper, growing claws, and Obi-Wan could feel his chest tightening. Anakin chanced a grin at him. He pressed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He had patience. Endless patience. Patience was a bottomless well within him.

"Where are you supposed to work on droids?" he asked, then slowly opened his eyes to get a response.

Anakin ducked a little and wiped water from his face. "The mechanics bay," he replied, voice dull.

Something inside Obi-Wan twisted a little, and he pressed his eyes shut again, all the calm from his morning routine evaporating. "Then why is there antifreeze, and oil, and whatever—"

"Hydraulic fluid."

He did _not_ snap. " _Hydraulic._ _Fluid._ All over the apartment floor?"

Anakin's mouth worked. "I—"

"Didn't think the rules applied or just didn't care?"

The boy hung his head.

Obi-Wan let his arms fall to his sides and turned. "Clean it up," he said, sighing. He took a moment to let the tension uncoil out of his body and heard Anakin's tread cross the apartment. It took a moment to register and he spun back, "And don't—"

Too late. Anakin smacked the call button for the housekeeping droid. A door in the apartment wall slid up, and a small triangular-based droid rolled out into the room. Obi-Wan strode through the mess to meet it.

"No. You, go back!"

The droid angled its lens up at him and chirped.

"Aww, don't . . ." Anakin whined. "It's his job, he likes it."

Obi-Wan shot him a glare, and Anakin's jaw snapped shut. "Lumo, go back. Anakin will take care of this."

The droid looked at the floor and chirped uncertainly, but obeyed Obi-Wan's shooing motion and rolled back into the cubbyhole in the wall.

"Lumo," Anakin called, sullen. "Mop." The ragged head of a mop popped out of the dark cut in the wall. "And bucket." Anakin sighed. A metal bucket spun out of the opening, rolling around on its edge until it dropped to a stop.

Anakin lifted his eyes to Obi-Wan's expectant, watchful glare and then hurried about cleaning the place at least as efficiently as the droid would have done. He called for absorbent powders and brooms, and set the furniture upright trying not to make a sound.

Obi-Wan let up on the glaring and rubbed at his forehead. He'd made his point. No need to make his charge suffer with self-consciousness. He crossed the room to the window and watched the traffic glide through the air, blinking and silent from this vantage point within the Temple walls. It didn't take long before Anakin had restored the room to order, and Obi-Wan beckoned him over to the seating area opposite the corner where Obi-Wan's bed sat, pristinely made, damp, and now in need of changing.

The apartments in the dormitories were all more or less the same. A single room for the knight and a small adjunct for their padawan. There was little storage, because they had no possessions to store. Usually. Anakin managed to acquire more than most.

The boy cast him that same sullen look as he swept the beaded water off the sofa's surface and sat, clearly expecting to be on the rotten end of a lecture. He clasped his hands in his lap obediently and stared at the coffee table.

A twinge of guilt pricked in Obi-Wan's chest, and he softened his expression.

"I only came to tell you we have an assignment from the Council," he offered, letting the words glide out easily.

Anakin's gaze rose, and he shifted in his seat, suddenly all ears.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're familiar with the Star Bloom festival?"

"You mean . . . the one I wasn't able to go to last year?"

"Yes . . ."

"Or the year before that because we were—"

"I was _there_ ," Obi-Wan cut him off before he had a chance to plummet into _that_ story again.

Anakin smirked at him. "What about it?"

"Well . . . this year the Council has decided we're going to participate." Anakin's eyes widened. "They want us to impress the Senators, and I thought you might have some ideas."

The boy stared at him. And then his expression slowly fell, melting into a frown as he lowered his eyes to the table again.

That wasn't the response Obi-Wan had been expecting. He frowned himself and dipped trying to get a look at his padawan's face.

"Anakin?"

The boy played with the fabric of his tunic and gave Obi-Wan a distant, chastised glance. "They want you to show off," he said, voice dull and miserable. "So you thought of me."

 _Oh._

 _Oh . . ._

Obi-Wan drew a breath to reply, but he had no rebuttal. That _was_ what he'd thought, and a sudden shame washed through him for failing to see how his words would be taken. For the millionth time, he questioned the wisdom of the responsibility he had taken on and felt, keenly, like a padawan himself.

"I-I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I thought . . . it would be a chance for you to let your nature work _for_ you. I thought . . ." He shrugged helplessly under Anakin's troubled gaze. "I thought you'd be pleased."

Anakin looked at him a moment longer and then back down. "Hm. You aren't lying."

"Of course I'm not lying!"

More miserable scowling scrolled across Anakin's face before he looked up and studied Obi-Wan with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. Sometimes, he didn't seem twelve. Whatever cogs worked behind his eyes turned the issue over and all at once came to a decision. He brightened, straightened, and nodded once with certainty.

"All right. I'll help you."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up, and he sat back, thrown by the sudden switch. "W— Great!"

The boy smiled, his look turning mischievous. "And you really want me to show off?"

"This once?" Obi-Wan replied, then dropped his voice to a false whisper. "I really want you to."

Anakin hopped up from his seat, and Obi-Wan found himself talking at his back and he rushed to his room.

"But remember, this isn't just about you! We need to show everyone's talents, the value of the Order as a whole!"

Anakin returned with a large datapad clutched in one arm and a stylus in the other, eyes darting across the readout. "We'll be in the Senate District's parade then."

"I assume so." Obi-Wan stood so he could get a better look at what Anakin was sketching.

Anakin hid the pad at his chest, looking scandalized. "I haven't even started!"

"Sorry!" Obi-Wan held his hands up and backed away, pleased that Anakin was taking the assignment so seriously. Neither of them had ever planned a parade before. But Anakin had an outsider's eyes when it came to the Order. He'd grown up on legends and stories told around cook fires of heroes, immortal saviors. If the Senate could see them the way Anakin saw them, Master Yoda had little to worry about.

Anakin's head snapped up. "We should have lightsaber throwing," he declared.

Apprehension started to gather a fog at Obi-Wan's feet. Perhaps . . . "I'm not—"

"Definitely." Anakin nodded to himself, made a note, and started to wander away, lost in his thoughts and scribbling at the pad as he went.

Obi-Wan watched him for a second, wondering if he'd just shirked the duties Master Yoda had carefully assigned or done exactly as the old Jedi had intended. He'd get his show, either way.

The Temple has a bit of everything. Not every Jedi is destined for wars on the Outer Rim, and there are enough of them that between missions they need something to do with themselves other than read. Obi-Wan returned to the apartment black with dirt to his elbows, his white clothes long since switched for dark brown. He rained dirt as he crossed the quickly darkening floor to the sink to wash off the grime. The agricultural pods were always open to volunteers—weeds did not pick themselves—and he found it oddly satisfying to sink his hands into soil to help something grow. Maybe because there was so little of it on Coruscant.

He scrubbed, the water running brown to tan to almost clear. The sound of it must have alerted Anakin, because he came running from his room, a tree of projections blooming from his datapad. He stumbled to a halt, and Obi-Wan looked over at him in question.

Anakin eyed the floor. The quite dirty floor. And very slowly arched an eyebrow at him.

Obi-Wan returned a deadpan expression and punched a button on the wall. The door to Lumo's cubby slid open, and Obi-Wan gave his padawan a steady, self-satisfied smirk.

Anakin shook his head.

"What?" Obi-Wan said. "He likes it."

Sarcastic silence. Anakin set his pad down on the small dining table so the projections could spread to fill the room. He waited, eyeing his master anxiously, as Obi-Wan dried his hands and started walking into the cloud of images hanging in the air.

Some of them he recognized as movements from lightsaber katas. Some looked like a board game, with symbols and arrows whose meanings he couldn't divine. Others a series of vehicles, floats, with people waving to the crudely rendered crowd. He leaned in closer for a better look and then cut a glance Anakin's way.

"I admit, I don't really know what I'm looking at."

Anakin tapped a button on the pad and a collection of the sketches turned blue. "These are lightsaber fights. Well, not fights. Pretend fights." He tapped again, another collection turning green. "These . . . Well . . ." He shrugged one shoulder when Obi-Wan looked at him. "These are for the ones who aren't Jedi. The healers, and the cooks, and the nursery staff."

Obi-Wan cocked his head and peered at him. The cooks? "Why?"

Anakin shrugged again and touched one of the sketches, moving the projection around in the air. "You said... we should represent everyone," he replied quietly. He let the sketch go.

Pride burst behind Obi-Wan's ribs, and he smiled at the warmth. "I did say that." He looked at all the drawings again, the beginnings of a plan.

"What do you think?" Anakin asked in a small voice, trailing him as he made his way around.

He couldn't stop smiling and slung an arm across Anakin's shoulders. "I think it's an excellent idea," he told him, and looked down at his shocked face. "Truly." Inspiration whacked him between the eyes. "In fact, I think I will leave this in your hands."

"What?" The boy's eyes became saucers.

"An assignment of your own. You'll have to start sometime, and I think this is sufficiently non-lethal."

"But—"

"But?" He gestured at the plans. "You're well on your way. You tell me what you need, and I'll get it done."

Anakin blinked at him, then at the projections. "My assignment . . ." he whispered.

Obi-Wan grinned at the awed expression on the boy's face. "Think you can handle it?"

Silence as the boy focused on the datapad and touched it gingerly.

"Anakin?"

He jerked his head up. "What? Yes." He squared himself and stood a little taller. "Yes."


	4. Travel to Besk

**AYLEE**

"Unbe _liev_ able!"

Aylee paced the small cockpit of the _Night Vesper,_ ire ratcheting every time she turned.

Tir-Zen watched her from the pilot's seat, twisting so he could look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Master," he said in his soft, strained way.

She halted, spun to face him. "This was supposed to be our chance! I thought this would be-"

"I know."

"That they might finally _trust_ -"

"I'm sorry, Master."

Her anger hardened. Not at him. "I don't need a babysitter!"

Someone cleared their throat.

Aylee whirled, a flutter of robes and discontent, to find a man standing at the bulkhead separating them from the cargo hold. A familiar one. Auburn hair. Her brain scrambled for a name, or something that _sounded_ like a name.

It tossed, "Ben!" up and out her mouth in desperation (was that right?), while Tir-Zen voiced, "Master Kenobi?"

He gave her a strange look as she charged at him, recoiling but not giving ground.

" _You're_ the babysitter?"

He recovered. Settled. Humor edged his mouth and blue eyes as he regarded her. "I prefer bodyguard."

She glared. Up. Because he was taller, which made the effort annoyingly less effective. "I don't need one," she ground out.

He shrugged, unperturbed. "That's what I told them, but the Council insisted."

Aylee's breath came quick and hot with anger as she stared him down. Outrageous. Preposterous. Insulting, even! "Are you getting off my ship?"

"No." She crashed against his placid tone, her own state thrown more into contrast by his commensurately Jedi example. Infuriating implacability.

Aylee's mouth tightened, and she spun on her heel and stomped up the steps from the cockpit to the lounge.

 **OBI-WAN**

They watched her until she disappeared from view, and Obi-Wan had to try hard not to question the Council's wisdom in this venture.

"You'll have to forgive my master," Tir-Zen said evenly. "She has a lot on her mind."

Obi-Wan looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. "Spoken like someone who says that a lot."

A frown rippled across Tir-Zen's face, and he pressed his lips into a tight line as he turned to face forward.

A silent, effective rebuke and hardly a good way to start a journey. Chastened, Obi-Wan slipped quietly into the seat next to him. Tir-Zen kept his eyes on the hangar doors, hands resting lightly on the controls. Obi-Wan had challenged his loyalty to his master, and if anything, Tir-Zen's tense silence was a credit to the both of them. He should have been more mindful of his words.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan began. "I-"

"Are you ready to leave?"

No anger. But no familiarity either.

Obi-Wan's thoughts went quickly to Anakin, staying behind in the Temple to continue work on his assignment. Alone. For the first time. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Yes," though it lacked conviction.

As Tir-Zen flicked the _Night Vesper_ 's controls, he chanced a guarded glance in Obi-Wan's direction.

"I meant no offense," Obi-Wan offered gently. He'd thought of Tir-Zen as a friend first and a padawan second.

Tir-Zen's shoulders eased, and he gestured toward the radio, passing communication duties over to him. _Because of his voice_ , Obi-Wan thought, suddenly profoundly curious.

"More often than I'd like," Tir-Zen rasped at him, barely audible, in answer to his previous question, just before Obi-Wan pressed the button for station control.

 **AYLEE**

The Council's orders had been clear. Besk was descending into chaos following a disputed election. What started as riots was quickly becoming civil war. The damarque had sent word to the Republic, asking for intervention. In turn, the Jedi had been tasked with bringing Besk into the Republic and restoring order. They'd given Aylee little time to prepare.

"...the Republic offers member planets beneficial trade agreements..."

Aylee made a face, crossed the words off on her datapad, and tried again. "...will usher in a new era of economic prosperity," she muttered, meandering back and forth in front of the table in the _Night Vesper_ 's lounge.

She picked up a second pad and thumbed through some data on intergalactic currency trading. Credits. If Besk joined the Republic, they'd have to convert to credits, which would change the planet's buying power across the galaxy.

"New markets will open, increasing imports and exports." She tsked at herself, deleted it. "Healthcare and technology," she said, talking to herself as she switched pads again.

"Who is this speech for?" A warm voice asked.

 _The latest advances in anti-cancer treatment..._

So many topics to cover. Regenerative medi-gel, limb replacements, plague vaccines. The health advances alone... Aylee tore her eyes from her research and looked up at Ben, leaning against the door, his arms tucked into his sleeves as he watched. She stared at him, sure that he had spoken. Her attention bounced, drinking in details.

"You have beauty marks," she said and touched a spot below her eye and on her forehead. What a curious thing. "Odd for your generation."

His eyebrows shot up and he stepped further in. _"My generation?"_ he laughed as he repeated it. A lovely laugh, bright next to Tee's huffs.

She lifted one shoulder and looked down at the pad, reading as she spoke. "It became trendy. Parents removing everything. Fixing it all so we're the same blank slates." She gestured at her own face vaguely.

At his answering silence, she looked up to find him frowning in confusion. Or even offense! A cold bolt shot through her spine, and she pulled the pad to her chest. She hadn't meant to offend. Had she? She couldn't tell. "They're very nice," she said, announcing a proclamation. That should have been obvious, but sometimes obvious things needed saying.

His lips parted, and he frowned a little more. "Thanks," he said slowly, like it might have been a question. He drifted closer, scanning her face. "Why don't I remember you?" he asked, troubled that such a thing could be.

A smirk touched Aylee's mouth, and she sat, restless under his scrutiny. She kept her eyes on the datapad, not really reading.

"I passed my Trials the same year Chancellor Valorum took office." She looked up and watched him do the math. Nine years, roughly. "You were just a youngling when I left Coruscant." She shrugged. "Haven't really been back."

He huffed and rubbed at his chin. "And here I thought the beard made me look older."

"Oh, it does. But something... I don't know. Doesn't quite reach your eyes, I guess."

It earned her a small, self-conscious smile that warmed out to her fingers. She glanced back at her speech, the spinning wheels in her mind slowing and gaining traction.

"Say that thing again."

"What?"

"What you said before." She flapped a hand in his direction. "Say it again."

"Who is this speech for?"

She stared at her words and then up at him. He lifted his eyebrows in query, watching with interest.

It was the right question. Perhaps the first in a series of right questions she hadn't even seen to ask. The threads of her attention started to come together, braiding into a solid strand. She rose slowly, looking at him as though reading answers from his eyes.

"It's a speech for politicians," she said, piecing her words together as the thoughts formed. "I was going to tell them why Besk should join the Republic. The Tusks already support Besk joining. If I..." She turned away, pulse picking up as a possible future unfolded, so clear. "If I show up and tell them Besk should join, then I come in on the side of the Tusks. Naturally my conclusion would be that the election should be settled in their favor." She frowned and looked at the datapads on the table, the speech.

"But?" he prompted.

Didn't he see? So clear. So obvious. "This started with a corrupt election. If I come in declaring a victor who just so happens to support my interests, that won't stop anything. It's as biased as a bad election." It dawned on her with a cold sinking. "I can't ask them to join the Republic," she said in a small voice, and watched him for a reaction.

He nodded and looked grim. "What _can_ you ask them to do?"

"Trust themselves," she answered automatically. But it was the truth, too. They didn't need to believe in the Republic to solve their problem. They needed to believe that they could solve it on their own. That their political system was capable of producing their greatest good. "We can help. We can be arbiters and observers and provide the manpower to do a recount or have a reelection. But the Republic can't make an armistice dependent on Besk's willingness to join."

She dropped into her seat, stunned at the revelation. At the useless amount of work she'd already put into a misguided task. She looked up at Ben, and he grinned automatically back.

"I think I've made more work for you," he said, wincing with apology. "I'll go." He backed up a step, and then turned.

"You can stay," Aylee told him. "If you want."

He gave her a quick, assessing look and took a seat in one of the plush chairs on the other side of the room. He closed his eyes as Aylee picked up her datapad and cleared her first draft. While he meditated, she started again, the words flowing as from the Force itself.

It happened without her noticing. The light sound of his breathing barely audible over the hum of the ship. But the rhythm seeped through her skin, and they fell into sync. She worked. He breathed for the both of them. Calm and steady, waves on a gentle beach. The virtues of Besk society extolled themselves across her screen, and Aylee knew them like she knew sunrise.

Tir-Zen came up the steps and announced that they had gone into hyperspace. There was nothing to do now but wait. He moved to a corner of the lounge on silent feet as Aylee read back over the last few sentences and imagined them echoing over a vast amphitheater, a whole world weighing her words.

 _Inhale..._

 _Exhale..._

A steaming cup of caf slid onto the table within easy reach, and Aylee glanced up from her work. Tir-Zen placed another cup on the side table next to Master Kenobi, and he stirred from his meditation. A look of surprise passed over his features and then another one of those small, furtive smiles colored with a joke he wasn't sharing. He shifted, stretching his muscles. Aylee had no idea how long it had been.

Tee sat at Aylee's side near the end of the table, surveying the scatter of her work.

"How's it going?" he asked, and tipped some sweetener into his drink.

Aylee very carefully set her datapad down. She could feel the both of them watching, the pressure of their regard. By the gift of long association, Tee read something in the length of her pause and curled his fingers around his cup.

"I'm not going to ask them to join the Republic," she told him.

He took the news gracefully and frowned. "But Master," he breathed. "That was the Council's command."

"The Council"—she turned in her seat to face him—"told us to stop the war and bring Besk into the Republic."

Tir-Zen nodded, and Aylee offered a sad smile.

"But, we can't do both," she told him, and his frown deepened. "The war is _about_ joining the Republic. The Plainswalkers are already set to. If we come in lobbying on the Republic's side, we decide their election for them. The fighting won't stop."

"But if we fail—"

"We have to fail..."

"—they'll send us back to Ossus!" His voice scratched for volume, bleeding distress. He looked away, shaking his head, and Aylee felt herself disappointing him again. Seemingly always. It battered her heart.

"Tee, I'm sorry. I've thought about it. I _keep_ thinking about it. We can't do both."

He crackled with energy and shook his head harder. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would they give us an assignment we can't complete!" he demanded, hopping up because he could no longer sit.

Aylee swallowed, all her apologies turning to ash. "To see which way we fail," she said quietly.

Tir-Zen spun and stared at her, his chest heaving. "You could at least _try_!" He clacked his teeth and then took a moment to calm himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

"It's not about trying. If they join, it has to be because it's in their nature, not because we forced it. And we don't _know_ that they won't. They might."

Tee cracked his eyes, searching her face. "You think... you'll get them to join by _not_ asking," he said, dubious.

Aylee searched the ceiling for bits of words. How to express this way of the Living Force, its most elusive aspect. "I think," she told him, "that I can help them in a way they will accept. And that some things are just beyond our control. Like... what the opposition will think of us if our help gives them a victory."

Tir-Zen held himself tense, and he held her gaze steadily. "I don't want to go back," he said slowly, enunciating each word as though their sound would have more power if he could render them right.

Pain clenched around Aylee's heart. She knew. Oh, she _knew_. The Temple meant opportunities. Friends. A _life_. But what choice was there? Tears pricked at her eyes as she watched him struggle.

"What do you want me to do, Tee?" It was a real question. "Stop the war? Sign them on?" They hadn't arrived yet. Both options were still technically on the table.

She passed the weight to him and could see the deliberation work its way onto his face, even though there was only one possible outcome. They both knew it and yet performed this pantomime anyway so he would understand and perhaps, in time, forgive if it came to that. Tir-Zen's shoulders slumped, and he met his master's eyes.

"You have to stop the war," he whispered miserably. He dropped back into his seat and hunched protectively over his sense of defeat, holding his horns in his hands.

Aylee drew a breath to speak, but he cut her off. "I know. Trust in the Force." He clacked his teeth in distress and stared at the table top.

Aylee's heart squeezed again with wretched aching, and she looked across the room at Ben. He hadn't said anything. And she couldn't tell if he agreed with her course of action. In the brief moment when their gazes connected, he read her silent plea and bowed his head. A second later he stood and yawned, rolling out his shoulders.

"Well. I don't know about anyone else, but _I'm_ going to go practice forms in the cargo hold." He slipped his robe off and tossed it on the chair. "You're welcome to join me," he said, and made for the steps.

Tir-Zen's head popped up, and he gave Aylee a sharp, eager look.

She motioned with her eyes that yes, of course he should go, and he darted after Master Kenobi, metal steps ringing under his feet.

Chal'tek is a game for two. Tir-Zen had fashioned Aylee an electronic version when they learned of their reassignment, to replace the ancient boards of stone and bone they'd be leaving behind on Ossus. The rules were few and simple.

It was a game of war.

Aylee leaned her elbows on the table and watched Ben reach for a piece, then reconsider. His eyes moved about the board. He made another aborted motion, plucking at her patience, but she breathed and tried not to give anything away. He had absorbed the instructions readily enough and seemed amused at the idea of a game so old it lived only in the places time forgot.

He sat back and stroked absently at his beard. Tir-Zen tinkered with an astromech circuit board somewhere behind them. Aylee counseled her expression and stared her opponent down as her stomach clenched. He gave her only the barest of looks, then leaned forward, picked up his piece, and made his move.

The perfect move.

"E tu cha!" Aylee flung herself back in her chair, glowering as a sizable portion of her pieces changed sides. She shook her head."Karking dopa-maskey goo," she ground out, still shaking her head as she surveyed the damage.

She did _not_ look her opponent, though he seemed to have a way of making his amusement palpable.

"Was that Huttese?" he asked.

She shrugged, _not_ looking. "All the best curses are. Finest language in the galaxy for it."

He really had chosen the worst, and by worst she meant best, possible move he could have made.

Tir-Zen crossed the room silently and hovered just over her shoulder, examining the board. He crowded into her space. "You're going to lose," he observed.

Aylee shot him a glare. "Thank you. Padawan."

His mouth twitched. "You're a bad loser."

"I am not!"

She turned back to the board, vibrant with indignation. Tee leaned in.

"Chuba doopee da wanga-"

Aylee waved him away, "I don't need your help," annoyance slicing her words thin.

Tir-Zen shrugged gracefully. She didn't see the look he exchanged with Ben over the top of her head, though it _felt_ like a conspiracy in the air. He slipped back to his project in the corner, and Aylee scowled down at the chal'tek board, resting her mouth against the hard peaks of her interlaced fingers.

 **OBI-WAN**

He followed in her wake, not that one could do much storming in the tiny lounge. He shouldn't feel sorry. Mostly didn't. Except the _look_ on her face.

Aylee jerked open the drawer with the plates, making them rattle.

Obi-Wan hovered, trying to peek beyond the curtain of her hair. She couldn't really be _this_ angry. He tried to pull down on his smile.

"I'm sor-"

"Don't." She opened the cooling case with more force than necessary.

He reconsidered his assessment. Maybe she _was_. It's not like he'd _intended_ to best her the first time out. Twice. Mirth tickled his ribs.

"It's a wonderful game."

"Stop!" She looked at him this time, briefly, before punishing a piece of cheese with a knife.

He leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, holding it in while he watched her assemble a lunch. Self-satisfied glee fluttered through him, made worse with every clipped motion.

Obi-Wan pitched his voice low and soothing. "You're not half as bad a loser as I'd feared."

Aylee slammed her fork down on the counter and glared at him.

He fought it. The crawl of the smile. The laugh in his throat. Years of discipline into trying not to crack. But his eyes gave him away. And he could tell by her breathing that she was trying just as hard to remain angry. He ducked his head and let his posture soften.

"Maybe I just had a really good teacher," he offered.

She rolled her eyes as she looked away from him and released some of the tension she'd been holding. By silent agreement, she was allowing his mollification to work. She set her plates onto a tray with far less clatter.

"Five minutes to learn, a lifetime to master, so they say," she told him.

"Really," he replied, humor threading into his tone as she turned away. An impish smile spread across his face. "So... you're saying I'll get even better?"

She flung a rude gesture over her shoulder, and Obi-Wan swallowed down a laugh.

 **AYLEE**

The Great Library. A reliquary of the galaxy that was, and the Order that protected it. Its disinterred ribs arched high, higher. Aylee stepped into its vastness, its edges fading into the darkness. No building could be this large. Row upon row upon row of bare desks, with nowhere to sit. Too many rows. She took a step and felt engulfed by them on every side. A forest of gathering ghosts. She clenched against their encroachment.

Holocrons pulsed in their casks. Their light stretched away, thousands deep. Impossibly deep.

It felt wrong.

There weren't this many holocrons in all the galaxy. They pulsed like a single heart, filling the void with a blue glow and fading to near complete darkness. A still life simulacrum of breath.

She walked in a corpse. And every nerve screamed at her to turn around. But she could not stop moving toward the stacks that disappeared into the dark and yawned up into a cavern. Her heart fluttered as she moved. Needling spider legs itched up her neck. This was not her home.

It didn't _feel_ like her home.

She blinked and was suddenly among the stacks. Towering canyons. She hunched as she looked up at them, wary of their bulk. The silence menace of their size as they breathed the blue light of the casks.

Damp air gathered, making her skin chill with goosebumps. Libraries shouldn't be cold and damp. It wasn't good for the books.

She did not want to go on.

Turn. Turn and run.

Another step, and the air congealed. Aylee jerked at the sudden sensation of pressure on her skin. The light from the holocrons rippled and spread through the miasma, and a dark shape lurched at the end of a row.

A fleeting shadow with the shape of a claw beat out of sight.

She spun, a bolt of terror in her chest. Tried to follow it.

Out of the corner of her eye, another. Long, sinuous. A whipping flick of darkness slid out of view. Aylee spun again, her heart pounding in her ears. They were giant, massive. A shape carved out of the darkness, teeth and maw. Jaws that could swallow a ship gnashed soundless and swam up.

Swam.

It struck like a bell that she was _underwater_.

She twisted in sudden panic, and the animal instinct to breathe took over.

She gasped. Tried to. Flailed, trying to swim, but she stuck fast to the ground. Pressure flooded in, and she knew she was choking. Felt the air cut off. The quick fire in her lungs and squalling desperation.

The beasts in the water darted in and out of sight. Their hunger palpable. _Prey._

Aylee turned to run and faced blackness. She flicked on her lightsaber and thrust the golden beam into the emptiness. She heaved to take a step, heart pounding. _Breathe!_ Struggled to take another. There was nothing beyond the blade, nothing beyond the beam.

Pain exploded in her chest with the need to inhale, and she gave in.

The pressure vanished. The water and shadows and terror evaporating, as her knees hit sand. Her lightsaber rested again on her hip, and she blinked up at an alien sky with two bright suns. The heat opened the pores of her face as she closed her eyes and turned them toward the glow.

The _Night Vesper_ rocked from a blaster strike, tumbling Aylee out of her bunk. Reflex landed her on her feet, and a sudden rush of adrenaline swiped aside all remnants of sleep. She darted from their quarters into the lounge and took the staircase to the cockpit at a leap. She caught her momentum on the backs of the pilot's chairs as the ship rocked again and alarms screamed.

"Morning!" Ben chimed and jerked on the ship's yoke. "Welcome to Besk." He glowered out at the planet gleaming ahead of them and the hail of oncoming blaster fire.

"Hailing frequency open," Tir-Zen told him.

"Besk vessels, cease your fire. This is a diplomatic ship!" Ben shouted.

Another shot hit the shields, rattling them. Aylee braced against the chairs, heart pounding. They'd been _invited_!

"So, how's the babysitting going?" Aylee asked him, keeping her attention on the ships crossing the main screen.

"Well, you're alive at the moment, so I'm calling it a win," he replied, light and wry despite being under fire. "Hold onto something!"

Aylee gripped his shoulder.

He threw the ship into a sharp bank and spin.

Chemicals rushed her body with a fight response and a feeling of pervasive _aliveness_ rocketed through her veins. She could feel her pulse beneath her skin, and through that found the pulse of the Living Force. Aylee's awareness flared out.

"On your three," she said.

The _Night Vesper_ jumped to evade the shot.

Then, "Six. Below us!"

He swore, Aylee's grip tightened, and he pulled the ship into a loop. They took a hit on the hull as they came around, electronics flashing with overload.

"We don't have guns, so if anyone has any bright ideas, now would be the time!" he said, all his concentration set on weaving them between their attackers.

The fighters must belong to the opposition. They must have reasoned that if she couldn't land, she couldn't sway the public against them. So then what they needed was...

"Tee. Can you open a channel to everyone?"

Tir-Zen glanced up at her. "We just did. They ignored—"

"No, I don't mean the ships." Aylee swept her hand to indicate the globe slipping by their main viewer as Master Kenobi swung them through evasive maneuvers. "I mean the planet. Full spectrum. I want to talk to _everyone_."

She met his eyes, and a second later, Tir-Zen jumped up from his seat and ran back to the cargo hold. Seconds seemed like minutes. Aylee glanced over her shoulder to see him unscrewing a wall panel.

" _Today_ , Tir-Zen!"

Metal screamed and clanked to the floor.

Aylee turned her attention inward and focused on her breathing. Inhale. Exhale. In the river. The ship jolted as the deflector shield took another hit, but her fingers on Ben's shoulder eased as she slipped into the stillness of the present moment. The Force pervaded. And Besk ached in her senses.

Tir-Zen dropped back into his seat, breathless, and tapped a button on his wrist com.

"Ready, master?" he rasped.

Aylee nodded.

Her heart slowed.

"People of Besk. I am Consular Aylee Desai of the Jedi Order, here on a mission of mercy. I've been sent by the Republic to help settle the election dispute that's put your world on the brink of war." She took a breath and let the truth be her guide. "Some of you fear that I'm here to force Besk into the Republic. I admit to you, those _were_ my orders. But I've chosen to ignore them.

"I've been told that Loxans can smell a lie. And I invite all of you to ask me yourselves in person. I don't think Besk needs anyone to make that decision for you, least of all me. What I would like to offer is my assistance, in any way that I can, in restoring your trust in your democracy.

"Besk was the first world in this solar system to set aside old hatreds and territorial disputes to establish a planet-wide government. You have a long and proud history of self-determination and participatory rule.

"But greed and special interests and corruption have eaten away at what you once had. These powers have placed profit over life and happiness. And you are _right_ to dispute the legitimacy of such rule. Some of you feel that the Republic is just another one of these interests. Your skepticism does you credit.

"I am not here to deliver Besk to the Republic. I'm here because I can feel, even from this distance, the strife on your planet. I can feel the death. The misery." Her voice tore a little. "The Force is warped with your anguish, and the fighting needs to stop. We can stop it.

"And I promise you, if I can, I will deliver Besk back into the hands of its people. Please, please let me try.

"If I can't help you, ship me back. What will you have lost? But shouldn't you, for your own welfare, for the child you love and the children you've already lost, shouldn't you try a solution when one is offered?

"The Republic may have sent me, but I serve the Force, which lives in all of us. I would serve you, as I serve it, if you will allow me the chance."

The words dried up, and Aylee glanced at Tir-Zen, hopeful it was enough, that someone in the void was listening. After a moment, he hit the com on his wrist to cut the transmission.

The three of them stared out into space, hung with motionless Besk ships, waiting, with only the ship's alarms breaking the silence.

One by one, the Besk fighters turned.

Aylee let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Ben slumped in his seat. And Tee braced his arms against the console.

Aylee staggered back a few steps and fell with jelly knees onto the steps to the lounge, shaking as the adrenaline ebbed.

"Well done," Ben said over his shoulder.

She huffed and offered a weak smile in reply. "Thanks."


	5. Besk

**AYLEE**

Hot air rolled into the ship, laden with dust and acrid smoke.

Instructions from the Damarque had sent them to the east capital of Porvela, to a small landing platform well outside the parliament dome's shield perimeter. It was, they were told, the safest and most stable location available. The parliament's own platform was... under repairs.

The _Night Vesper_ 's ramp touched ground, and a shifting wind brought more of the musk of smoke and spent fuel. Aylee hesitated on the walkway as the warp in the Force pressed against her breastbone. Suffering. And death. She drew a breath that was all chilling pain and let the feeling slide through, open to its bite yet safe in the knowledge that this, too, would flow away with the river.

Tir-Zen hovered anxiously at her side, watching and waiting.

Ben folded his arms into his sleeves.

Aylee started down the ramp and out into the bright Besk sun.

The broken husk of a city gaped back at them. It had the unnatural stillness of aftermath. No shouts. No sirens. Smoke from a thousand fires curled long fingers into the air. And nothing around them moved.

"I don't think they're on the _brink_ of anything," Ben observed softly. "This is war."

Aylee nodded, slowly taking in the cityscape. The landing platform dumped them out onto what looked like the main causeway heading toward the parliament dome. But it felt strange as they walked, like the road was too broad, like their steps got them nowhere.

They veered toward the nearest bombed out building, conscious of the vulnerability of so open and flat an area. The building grew. And grew. And as they walked into the shadow of its protection, an acute awareness of insignificance washed down Aylee's back in a cold wave.

The architecture felt wrong.

Collapsed sections of wall revealed thick, reinforced concrete construction. The windows were too high.

Aylee frowned at it, unsure why it knocked her so off kilter. She glanced at Ben and saw him giving the building a similar, puzzled look. They kept moving, crunching over blasted bits of wall and stone. Where were the Loxans?

They crossed an unreasonably wide street, peering in every direction and fighting the urge to run from the exposed space. The next block had escaped bombardment, and they slowed to stare up at the first locked door.

"Just how big _are_ these people?" Ben asked with a mix of wonder and worry.

Aylee shook her head, trying to imagine the sort of creature who would need a door twenty feet high. It explained the windows, at least.

They came to another intersection, and Tir-Zen suddenly stopped and lifted his head. He stared hard for a second, and between blinks took off.

Adrenaline flashed into Aylee's system. "Tee!" she shouted, and kicked into a run after him.

He reached the other side of the street and disappeared into an alley.

"Where's he going!" Ben called, close at her heels.

She didn't know. But Tir-Zen had always had a greater gift for premonition and little self-control when it came to acting on it. He'd seen _something_ , that she was sure.

They pounded across the pavement after him, and Aylee barely caught sight of his robe disappearing around another corner in a blur. She drew on the Force, pulling it into her body and expelling it out as raw kinetic energy. The boost of speed sent her whipping down the alleyway after him.

And then sliding to a halt in a plume of dust.

A vehicle lay mangled in the street in front of them, blocking their path. Tir-Zen already had it in his grip, metal groaning as he swept his hands and flung a hunk of it aside. Aylee flinched from the impact and rain of concrete particles.

"Tir-Zen!" The admonishment should have made him stop.

Instead, he plunged further into the morass of hulking, oppressive structures, and they had no choice but to follow. They cleared the wreck of the vehicle, and Aylee's heart jumped at the sound of a lightsaber being drawn. Beside her, Ben drew his. They exchanged a look as they ran for the source of the sound.

Tee stood staring at a mountain of rubble, his green saber glowing in his hand. A building's wall had collapsed outward, filling the street and crushing the building on the other side. Twisted metal raked the smoke-strewn sky. Concrete boulders hung precariously from their reinforcing bars. A fire burned in the interior, eating up fabric and flooring.

These were houses.

And then Aylee felt it.

The thread of a life.

A metal beam from the fallen building impaled the house it had crushed. Thick concrete wall clung to it, adding to the mass of debris.

Tir-Zen jumped up onto the pile, leaping lightly between footholds, and raised his saber.

"What's he doing?" Ben asked again, lightsaber still bright at his side but no longer ready for a fight.

Sparks flew from the beam as Tir-Zen sliced into it. Lightsabers can cut through almost anything if given enough time and pressure. He used both hands and went up on his toes to add more weight.

"Help him," Aylee whispered, her eyes locked on the little house.

For a moment, Ben made as if to argue, looked at them like they had both lost their minds, but then he stowed his weapon and approached the mountain of debris. He gave it a long, calculating look and took a single leap up onto stable rock. He watched Tir-Zen for a second, shook his head, and followed suit, igniting his saber and carving into the metal.

They looked small against the massive structures, and both strained to cleave through the beam. A wind kicked up dust and the stench of smoke. They pressed to the wall, hiding from the worst of it, and kept cutting. Tee made it through first, and he nearly fell when his blade sliced into the concrete like melted butter.

She saw it only a second before it happened.

Ben severed his section of the beam and the whole wall started falling.

"Watch—!" Aylee shouted and threw out her hands.

The Force she wielded slammed against the rock. The wall stopped in its acquiescence to gravity.

Tir-Zen and Ben both dropped to the ground, running toward her to get clear.

Aylee curled the fingers of her right hand like she held a wine glass and established a stronger hold. Tons of metal and concrete pressed against her will, trying to fall. She shifted her weight to the right and drew her hand down and toward herself in a gentle, graceful arc. She gathered Force inward, rounded her motion and swayed left, pushing that hand out, redirecting the flow.

They hadn't seen the balance, the way the weight would fall once the metal's support was gone.

She heaved, her whole body moving in a liquid, circular weaving. The wall lifted up and back. Boulders unstuck from its edges and fell. Concrete cracked with an earthquake's rumble as she tipped, tipped until gravity took the weight of it and pulled the broken mass down into the street on the other side.

Tee didn't even wait for the dust to settle. He shed his robe and scrambled for the debris piled closest to the small building. Panting with effort and anxiety, he grabbed the material with the Force and hurled it free.

Aylee caught it midair, her hands weaving a circle, and set it down where it couldn't hurt anyone.

Tir-Zen kept going, tossing boulders and bars like a desperate man digging in sand.

She caught everything, plucking it from the air.

Ben dropped his robe in a puddle and climbed into the fray. He lifted away a boulder of his own, though much more controlled, and Aylee plucked it from his grasp anyway. He shot her startled look before proceeding with more abandon. They were ants demolishing a mountain, but by inches they revealed the buckled, broken remnants of a door.

Tee pulled a shard from the door away with Force-infused strength, making a hole large enough for a human. He scrambled up the scree for the opening.

And then stopped.

His shoulders tensed.

The too thin thread of life stretched. And stretched. And snapped.

His whole body sagged.

Aylee let her eyes fall shut and exhaled.

"What? What's wrong?" Ben asked, looking between the both of them. He got no answer. "Aylee!"

She snapped him a regretful look and shook her head. He frowned and glanced at the entryway they'd made.

Tir-Zen bowed his head for a moment. The urgency bled out of him, and he trudged over the concrete in measured silence. Aylee started up the slope after him, laying a hand on Ben's shoulder as she passed him. She could not tell which of them it was meant to comfort.

Aylee climbed through the small opening and picked her way down tectonic plates of broken wall and collapsed ceiling into partial darkness. The window they had made provided just enough illumination to make out rough edges and hulking shapes beyond the sphere of floating dust. Aylee's hands stung from scraping as she set foot on the floor. She took a breath, and the thick air tasted of iron and meat-a promise of what lay behind the veil. Her stomach clenched as she reached for her lightsaber and brought it to life.

Golden light pressed back the shadows as she held the blade high, and the room took on a candlelit glow. Behind her, Master Kenobi scuffled down the heap, the scrape of his boots the only betrayal of his presence. Ahead, Tir-Zen's shadow cut a sharp outline, obscuring her view. She shifted a few steps, and then wished she hadn't. As the light swung, Tir-Zen jerked back, extracting his foot from a pool of blood with a harsh inhale.

The metal beam had impaled more than just the building. That much weight and force didn't simply crush. It had ripped and pulverized. They stared at two Loxan bodies. A mother, she presumed, and a child. Where the mother's chest, shoulder, and most of her head had been... gore-slicked metal.

Somehow, her trunk remained, still entwined with the child's. The raw flesh hung in ribbons. Shards of her ribs sprang from the meat where her body peeled away from the beam, pulled free by its own weight. Her blood covered them both, black in the distorted light.

Bile scorched at Aylee's throat as her eyes tried to skip over the details, but she swallowed it down and breathed ever so shallowly. Revulsion and sorrow churned, and her body felt too small to contain both.

The child looked almost intact, its gray skin dusty white from powdered concrete. It looked Tir-Zen's height and many times his bulk, just starting to grow tusks. One three-fingered hand lay open and limp across the mother's stomach. Aylee couldn't tell the cause of death just from looking. Crushing or whiplash, it was hard to say.

She turned and lifted the light, examining the rest of the room. A mound of fallen debris taller than she was resolved into a third Loxan buried under the heap. _The father_ , she thought. Blood painted the side of his blocky head matching a dark stain on a chunk of rock that had rolled to the floor. A scimitar of one busted tusk gleamed on the ground. Aylee's hands felt strange when she saw one large flap of an ear nearly torn in two. The flesh had ripped, and her imagination could not let the image alone.

She felt her pulse in her hands, the close, hot blood and death pressing in. Aylee edged back in the direction she had come.

"Tee," she said quietly. "We have to go."

Tir-Zen tore his eyes away and spun. "We can't just leave them," he said, scowling.

"We don't even know their customs."

Her padawan's face turned hideous. "It can't be _this_!" He flung his hand at the mangled bodies.

"What do you want me to do!" Aylee shot back. "Excavate this whole place?" She gestured, swinging the saber. "Bury them in the street?"

Tee stared at her, chest heaving, and clenched his fists. He vibrated with compassionate outrage. He _did_ want to do those things.

"This isn't why we're here," Aylee told him, gentling the words and stowing her saber back at her hip.

His resistance broke suddenly, a snapping dry twig, and he stalked toward the window of sunlight. He collided heavily with her shoulder as he passed. She took the blow and let it go. When he was gone, she cast a glance back over her shoulder and let guilt have its say. They should have come faster. Tried harder. Good people did not leave the dead this way.

"You felt them die," Ben said, with a lifting edge of wonder.

He'd been so silent she'd forgotten he was there. Aylee looked him, his face a dim mix of shadows, and it dawned on her that he was asking because he _hadn't_. She wondered what the qualities of his powers were. Combat maneuvers.

 _He's a soldier,_ she reminded herself.

Lightsaber training, acrobatics, enough prescience to make a pilot.

"One of them," she admitted. She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Quietly, "I don't know which one." That seemed another failure. She owed them better. For a moment, they both surveyed the corpses in silent witness. Aylee turned away first. She started back up the pile of debris and added, almost more to herself than anything, "I guess now we know how big they are."

Tir-Zen beat at his robe, trying to knock free the dust and restore it to a deep green. He managed a frosted look and settled for that, slouching into the fabric like it offended him.

Aylee watched her padawan and did not comment.

Ben, too, gave him a worried look as he donned his own robe and smoothed off some of the dirt. "We should head back to the main road," he said. "If someone's coming to meet us, that's where they'll be."

Sage advice, and Aylee tipped her head in acknowledgment. When she started walking, Tee fell into step, a pace behind and to her right. He became a vortex to the senses, a storm of silent disapproval.

Aylee breathed and with the effort of no effort, let it go.

Living Loxans are a sight to behold.

They don't seem like much from a distance. But neither does a mountain range.

Up close, their massive frames moving under the strength of heavy muscle, the ancient reptilian part of the human brain instinctively shivers and longs for a place to hide. Master Kenobi, the tallest of the human-sized retinue, only came up to their waists.

A transport picked them up from the main road, as Ben had predicted. The one in charge had bowed its head and flourished its trunk before welcoming them aboard. It had black bands around each tusk, though what that indicated remained a mystery. When it spoke, its basso voice vibrated to the bone, as did those of its companions. The humans had to jump to get aboard the transport, and again to get onto a seat.

Aylee scooted toward Tir-Zen, and Ben vaulted up next to her, the three of them filling a seat meant for one. He peered around and caught Aylee's eye.

"Is this what insignificance feels like?" he said lightly.

She huffed and bounced her heels against the seat. "I feel like a kid." The floor was several feet down.

After a few minutes of silently flying down the empty street, Aylee straightened, trying to feel tall, and addressed the lead Loxan.

"Are we going straight to the Damarque?"

He-by the length of the tusks she thought it was a he-swung her a look. "The Damarque has called a party in your honor, Consular. We're taking you there," he rumbled.

A party. A very politician thing to do in the midst of a crisis. Aylee frowned at the approaching Parliament dome.

"What's your name?" Ben asked the Loxan while they still had his attention.

"Captain Ytan," he replied, bowing his massive head and flapping his ears lazily.

"Captain," Ben said, leaning back so he could gaze up at him, "I hope it's not rude to ask, but... where are all the people? The city's deserted."

Ytan swept his hand back toward the landing pad where they'd left their ship. "This section was evacuated. Everyone left."

"Not everyone," Tir-Zen said.

Aylee gave him a sharp, embarrassed look and fought the urge to admonish him openly.

Ytan moved a step closer and raised his trunk in Tir-Zen's direction. He drew a breath and puffed air out at him. Tee scowled warily at the examination but bore it without flinching. Seemingly satisfied by whatever he found, Ytan stepped back, a surprisingly soundless movement.

"No," he agreed. "Some refused to go. They didn't think the danger was real. Some..." His shoulders lifted. "Are Tusks." He looked at Tir-Zen and then up at the approaching destination. "But bombs can't tell the difference." He paused and then lifted a hand toward another part of the city. "The other sectors had only just started evacuation. We have... many wounded." He shook his head and his trunk curled up toward his mouth. "More than we can manage."

"I have an idea about that. Actually," Aylee told him.

He cocked his head. "Then I hope the Damarque listens, Consular."

She'd been thinking about it since the house.

They fell into silence again, and Aylee studied the Loxans at work, the way they moved. The driver used both hands and her trunk to manipulate the controls, like a third hand.

"Ytan," Aylee called up to him, and he glanced over. "The thing you did with your trunk when you picked us up. What was that?"

He turned to face her fully and rolled his trunk in a sweeping flourish, ending with the tip curling under. "A gesture of formal greeting, Consular. Why?"

Aylee smiled up at him. "Just curious. You're the first Loxan I've ever met."

He took that in, and the thick, wrinkled skin around his eyes scrunched with what might have been a smile.

"Your galaxy is very small," he told her and faced forward again as the transport slowed for entry into the dome.

Whether metaphorical or practical, his words rang very true.

Ytan led them from the landing platform into the Parliament building. Like the city, the architecture here had a bluntness to it, a necessity of the physics of building for Loxans' weight and size. But unlike the purely utilitarian construction outside, the architects of the capital turned the necessities into an opportunity for grandeur. The walkway from the platform to the door was patterned, inlaid stone-sparkling red and white tiles.

Distracted by it, Aylee slowed, and Ytan had to come to a complete stop.

"Consular?" he thrummed.

She scuffed her foot against the stones, and the matte grit grabbed the sole of her shoe. Ben and Tir-Zen frowned silently, but Ytan bent and peered at her, blinking. Aylee looked up at him with a start at finding herself the center of attention.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

The Loxan lifted a huge eyebrow. "High coefficient of friction," he said, and stood tall again. "Falling is dangerous." He turned to lead them on.

"Why?" Tir-Zen asked, jogging so he could at least see Ytan's face.

"It breaks bones, young one." He swung his trunk and lifted his mouth in a grin. "We don't bounce like you do."

Tee nodded as he absorbed that and fell back into step at Aylee's side. They all hurried a little more to keep their escort from having to stop each step and wait.

They passed into the building proper, and Aylee broke their little formation so she could run a hand along the wall. It looked strange. A brownish, tan material with folds of darker and lighter color. It was everywhere, walls, floor, ceiling. Something about it felt organic, the irregular patterns, maybe. The surface felt smooth to the touch and warm.

"Poured earth," Ytan offered, noticing her fascination.

"I'm sorry?"

"The material." He gestured around them. "Poured earth. Like concrete, only made from the soil of the land. They poured this whole building. Once they started, they did not stop until it was done."

"That sounds like a massive undertaking," Ben said.

Ytan flapped his ears. "It was. My grandfather and grandmother both worked on the project."

Aylee peered up at him. "You must be very proud."

He swung his trunk in a gesture like a swirl. "Everyone's h'ringa worked on it." He poked the tip of his trunk in Aylee's direction. "Don't let them try to impress you with it."

She grinned. "Thanks for the tip."

He bowed his head and slowed as they came to a massive wooden door. Ytan positioned himself beside it, his hand hovering over the controls.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Aylee looked at Tir-Zen, and his eyes flashed.

"Master, your hair," he whispered.

She touched it, unbound since they'd boarded the _Vesper_ and not at all proper Jedi style. _Fierfek._ She dug quickly in her pouch for a clasp and pulled her hair up into a twist and around into a chignon. She fiddled with it for a second and looked at Tee for as assessment. His face said: passable. She patted down where they must be stray wisps.

"Do you think—"

"It looks fine," Ben offered, and it was enough to settle her nerves. Fine says the consummate Jedi, then fine it must be.

She squared her shoulders and gave her companions each an inquiring look. They both nodded and buried their hands in their sleeves. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a slow, controlled sigh. A party couldn't be that bad, could it?

She glanced up at the captain and nodded; Ytan opened the door.

For a few seconds after they entered the ballroom, a space so vast it felt like a starship foundry, all went silent. Aylee, Ben, and Tir-Zen strode in, their small, human-sized steps spinning out the length of time it took them to get much of anywhere. Loxans in their finery stared.

Aylee could feel her shoulders getting tense under their scrutiny, but she kept walking until it felt like they'd actually traveled _into_ the room rather than stood hovering at the door. When she stopped, her companions stopped too, and the whole great room remained silent.

Someone had to do _something_.

"For a party," Aylee said loudly, "it doesn't look like anyone is having any fun!"

Something vibrated the air below human hearing.

A Loxan made a sound like a guffaw.

And suddenly everyone was in motion.

A herd converged around them, engulfing them on all sides in a forest of thick legs and padded feet. They jangled with jewelery, and the air took on the feeling of vibration, making Aylee's lungs buzz. Warm. fleshy trunks swarmed at them, prodding and touching with unvarnished curiosity. The Loxans drew deep breaths and puffed moist air into their hair and faces. The inspected clothes, played with hair. The buffeting from all sides made it difficult to stand.

"Are all humans so small?" one of the men asked.

"Uh, well, I'm a little below average, I think," Aylee told him, rocking to keep her balance.

"Are you going to help us?"

"Will you side with the Tusks?"

"What can anyone so tiny do?"

"Look at this one's face!" one of them exclaimed.

Aylee struggled to see through the wriggling swarm of trunks. Several had the nimble tips pressed to Ben's face, petting his beard. He sealed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, but made no attempt to stop them. In fact, he even held up his arms to give them better access to slake their curiosity. Perhaps he thought it would be over faster that way.

A Loxan woman dressed in blue bent down toward Aylee for a closer look. She had silver bands on her tusks, linked with chains, and matching jewelry in one ear.

"Your h'ringa is so varied. Is that common in the Republic?" she asked, and motioned to Ben and Tee.

Varied? "Well, species interact all the time in the Republic, yes. The Jedi Temple in particular takes members of any force-sensitive species."

The woman reached for Tir-Zen and plonked her trunk on his head. She pushed at his horns, and he shrugged his shoulders up, suffering it gamely. "So pointy!"

"Devi!" Another Loxan woman swatted her trunk away. "Have manners!" The newcomer in gold and green had long, graceful tusks painted with gold leaves. She bowed her head and shoved back at the throng. "Forgive my h'ringa, she's young."

"It's-" Someone shoved from behind, and Aylee stumbled. "It's all right."

The new woman straightened and flared her ears. A hum Aylee felt in her gut and tongue filled the room, and the swarm of prodding trunks suddenly stopped. The Loxans all moved back a pace, their ears flat against their heads, save for the woman in green.

"Rani," she said, and moved her trunk in the gesture of greeting. "We don't get many visitors." She cast a look around the herd. "I'm afraid we've forgotten how to treat guests."

In the moment of stillness, Ben found his way back to Aylee's side.

"You okay?" she asked him, sparing him a glance.

He brushed at his clothes and wiped a hand over his face before combing his hair into some sort of order. "Just... a _little_ violated," he replied quietly, pitched for only her to hear.

"Tee?"

"Fine, master."

Aylee gazed up at Rani. "Thank you."

She nodded and motioned for the crowd to go about their business. They turned reluctantly from their tiny visitors and made a show of talking to one another. Rani gave the room an assessing look, and when it met with her satisfaction, she held out a cup she'd been holding, crouching a little to pass it down to Aylee. The "cup" filled both Aylee's hands, and she grunted at the unexpected weight of it, channeling the Force through her muscles on instinct.

Ben chuckled and moved to where she could see him. "Drink up," he said, delight dancing in his eyes.

She scowled at him. There must've been gallons of whatever it was.

Tir-Zen, because he was a good and helpful padawan, appeared with the collapsible cup from his belt pack in hand. He dipped it into the basin and sniffed at the contents.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Kigelia wine," Rani replied. "From the West country." She watched them trying to manage with a frown, her trunk curling under. "I'm afraid we don't have anything smaller."

Tee sampled the drink and declared it sweet.

"Is there some place I could... put this down?" Aylee asked, straightening her back to shift the weight.

Rani indicated a table across the room. Far across the room. And it wasn't until they'd crossed the empty savanna of floor to get there that she realized she could walk underneath it, standing. Aylee stared up at the underside of the refreshments table.

"Decent construction," she muttered, and her companions huffed.

"You could climb on the chair," Ben suggested.

"And then what? Walk on the table?"

He shrugged in amusement, while Rani looked down at them, distressed.

"If you don't mind, Consular, I could just..." The woman reached down with her three-fingered hand and eased the cup from Aylee's grasp. She held it while they all filled human-sized cups and then set it down on the table, higher than any of them could reach, even on their toes.

The wine went down easy. Sweet, as Tee had said, round, smooth, and potent. Their journey through dust and smoke had left them all more parched than they'd imagined.

Ben sighed in relief and snapped his cup flat, tucking it away. "When do you suppose—"

His words cut off with a flinch as the room exploded with sound. A loud, painful trumpet blast assaulted their ears and seemed to come from everywhere at once. The humans clapped their hands to their heads and gathered under the table, instinctively going for safety. They ducked, searching for the source, and spotted a Loxan on the dais at the front of the room, her trunk high in the air.

The call stopped.

Aylee cautiously lowered her hands, ears still ringing, and glanced around the room. Everyone had turned their attention to the front. The Loxan there wore red, with gold bands decorating her tusks and a gold disc hung by chains on her forehead. That particular adornment belonged to only one person on Besk.

With a quick glance at Ben, Aylee slipped out from under the table, emerging at Rani's side. Tir-Zen and Ben kept formation on her flanks as they ventured out into the expanse cleared in front of the dais. The Loxan woman gestured with her trunk, mottled partway down with pink skin.

"Honored guests," she said.

Aylee mimicked the trunk gesture with her arm, curling her hand and bowing, her companions bowing with her. "Damarque Khundari." A murmur skittered through the crowd, and Aylee hoped she'd gotten the gesture right. For all she knew, a slight error could've turned it tawdry.

"You had inspiring words for my people, Consular."

Aylee let out a relieved breath. "Ones I intend to live up to, Damarque."

The Loxan ruler gestured for them to come closer and stepped down off the dais into a retinue of staff, who all stood attentive to their slow approach. Aylee stopped far enough away that she could see the Damarque's eyes without craning.

"Consular Aylee Desai, at your service, Damarque," she said, bowing again. "May I also present Master Kenobi"—he bowed deeply—"and my padawan Tir-Zen Gil."

The Damarque swung her trunk at them each in turn, taking care not to bathe them in hot breath like the others.

"I'm afraid I could not give you a grander welcome, Consular," she said. "You've seen our city. Everyone who can be spared is helping emergency services." She turned from the grand ballroom and led them into a hallway, trailed by silent assistants. Rani swiftly appeared at the Damarque's side, and as far as Aylee could tell their exchange took place entirely through gestures. "Ah, my manners," Khundari rumbled and touched Rani's trunk briefly as she slipped back in the line. "It was a long journey from Coruscant. Do you or your h'ringa need rest, Consular?"

"I'll be staying," Ben replied.

Tir-Zen strained his scratchy voice. "Perhaps later, Damarque."

Aylee smiled at them both. "We came prepared to work. And... I actually have an idea that might help your medical emergency problem."

Damarque Khundari slowed and opened a doorway to the left. "Oh?"

They ushered into a large meeting room, and the humans all peered up at the table above their heads and massively oversized chairs. As though they'd practiced it, they each grabbed a chair with the Force and pulled it back, then leapt up with a single, graceful push. Tir-Zen sat on the edge, dangling his legs over the side. Aylee, nearest the Damarque, remained standing. After a moment of contemplation, Ben settled himself up against the back and sank into a meditative lotus position. The rest of the Damarque's advisors filed in and took their seats, all awaiting Khundari's word.

"I doubt the Republic would be equipped to offer us much practical aid," Khundari said.

Aylee lifted her chin and felt the warmth of a calming hand at her back. "The Republic, no, but one of our member species. Have you heard of the Herglics?"

Heads around the table shook.

"They're mostly traders, but like you, they're substantially larger than most galactic species. I believe they'd have ships and facilities capable of caring for your people."

The Damarque narrowed her eyes. "And what would they want in exchange for this help?"

Aylee shrugged. "I don't know. But we could start by asking. They... mostly stay to their own ships and planet for...logistical reasons," she said gently. "But Besk..." she smiled and shrugged. "They'd fit right in."

Khundari looked around the table. "Ask."

One victory down.

Aylee bowed. "Do you have a communications room we could use?"

The Damarque motioned with her trunk. "Rani."

The woman stood, and Aylee turned to her padawan. "Tir-Zen, go. Contact the Senate secretary for the Herglic representative. Make the request."

He hopped up to standing, "Yes, Master," and turned to go. He halted suddenly and dug into a pouch on his belt, withdrawing a handful of capsules. He passed them to Ben and whispered something, then dropped to the floor to follow Rani to the long-range transmission center.

Ben frowned at the instant caf capsules in his hand, but tucked them away, offering only a small encouraging grin before settling back into his meditation.

Aylee leaned her hands against the table and gazed around at the half-filled room.

"I assume you speak for the Plainswalkers, Damarque?"

Khundari bowed her head, mindful of the sweep of her tusks. "I do."

"And the Tusks? They must be sending a representative."

A few of the advisors shifted uneasily, and the air filled with deep vibration.

"Due any moment, Consular." The vibration ended just the Damarque spoke, and the shifting Loxans controlled themselves.

Whatever that sound they were making was, it seemed to have a chastising effect.

Waiting was the worst part. Aylee crossed her arms and leaned back against the chair, feeling her nerves fraying a little more with each passing second. She had plans-a clear vision of how this meeting would go, if only they could start having it. Her list of proposals even came with a backup plan, though she hoped it wouldn't get that far. Her shoulders tightened in the silence, as she stared at the door, willing it to open.

She sighed, crossed her ankles the other way, and looked at Ben instead. He certainly seemed comfortable. He let his hands rest gently in his lap as he breathed, slow and measured. She fell into pace with him, and he cracked an eye open to look at her, a question in the quirk of his eyebrow. She shook her head. Her impatience wasn't his problem. With a nod, he shut his eye and resumed concentration on his breath. For a few moments, Aylee let herself join him, resigning her tension to the flow of the Force.

She could not say how much time passed before the door flashed open to reveal Ytan.

Aylee pushed up to standing.

"Damarque." Ytan cut a crisp bow. "The Tusk representatives," he announced, then swung out of the doorway.

Somehow, and it was a stupid notion, Aylee had been expecting a markedly different looking people to make up the opposition. Perhaps because it would have been easier to understand a prejudice worth killing over that way. But then, the family in the house may have been Tusk party, and they hadn't looked so very different. If there was anything to mark the Loxans who now filed into the room as different in anything other than ideology, Aylee's human senses couldn't discern it. Nearly as many men as women filed in-slightly more women, she thought. The last to enter, though, was definitely a man. He was taller than Ytan, and his undecorated tusks crossed.

"Vikrama." Damarque Khundari gestured in greeting, though her voice sounded hard even to human ears.

Master Kenobi had very quietly and very calmly come to his feet as their attackers from earlier in the day drew near.

The room seemed suddenly very small as the two most powerful Loxans on Besk stared at one another.

Aylee cleared her throat.

"Vikrama. Do you attend this meeting with full decision-making powers over your party?"

It pulled his gaze from the Damarque, and the walls seemed to shudder as everyone breathed.

"Consular Jedi"-he made the sign of greeting-"I'm sorry that we have bothered you with this nasty, internal affair."

A thin smile stretched across her face. "It's no bother." She shrugged lightly. "Jedi live to serve the cause of justice and peace. It is our honor."

Vikrama's eyes narrowed, and he clasped his hands together on the table. "You offered that we could test your honesty in your mission here. Face to face."

Aylee squared her shoulders and stood taller, resisting the urge to go up on her toes. "I did."

"Vik, this isn't-" the Damarque started, but Aylee held up her hand.

The man's mouth turned up in a grin. "Are you here to force Besk into the Republic?"

She glanced around the table, trying to judge their tolerance for theatrics, then jumped up onto the table top. Ben took a cautious step forward but did not follow. She marched into the center, so they could all reach with their trunks if they wanted and get a good whiff.

"No. I'm not here to force Besk into the Republic."

The oxygen left the room as the Loxans inhaled, and Aylee's robes fluttered when they let out a great gust.

Vikrama rumbled with something that might have been a laugh, and everyone on both sides relaxed. "Then we can deal," he told her. "I speak for my party."

Aylee bowed to cover her shuddering sigh and returned to her chair. Now that she had their attention, it was time to make something of it.

For people who had just been bombing each other they took to negotiation rather well. Or, at least, the argument portion. Tir-Zen sent message from the com room that the Herglics had agreed to send goodwill aid in exchange for the right to have ambassador on Besk. The Tusks conceded that they were as ill-supplied for mass casualties as the Plainswalkers and would not fire upon the hospital vessels. Authorization given, Tir-Zen proceeded to arrange the mercy mission, while the election strategy dragged on.

Ten hours later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, all parties agreed to break for the evening. Something about the dark turned them solemn. Hunters' Time, Khundari had called it, though offered no explanation. They'd made marked progress in the negotiation. Both sides had rejected using Republic machines to capture and count the votes. The Tusks' major concerns were fraud and access. They had no doubt that Plainswalkers miscounted, misplaced, or invalidated many of the ballots, with no oversight of their actions. That, the Republic could help with: bring in bureaucrats to watch the in-person elections and droids new from the manufacturer to verify totals.

Everyone agreed to a universal registration proclamation. And after hours of explanation and even running a test within the meeting room, both sides agreed to move to an approval vote. Various small-time parties drew votes from either side, and an approval system would let them each reclaim some of those "lost" voters. Aylee did not elaborate on the fact that it could also drive one of them toward losing power if a small party got large enough. Change was good for any democracy.

They had only just started in on the idea of collecting votes via the planetwide datanet when the sun set. If the populace could cast their votes without going to a physical location, Vikrama would get more of the access he was after. No more people standing in long lines. Fewer impediments meant, for him, more Tusk voters. It would be another win for his side, and Aylee wondered how many concessions the Plainswalkers would be willing to make. They had won the election currently in dispute. The system clearly worked for them as it was, except for the war and bombings. Which meant at some point they would all have to address disarmament, and Aylee could not predict how that negotiation would go.

A security guard escort with a single black band around one tusk led Aylee and Ben from the meeting room to their accommodations. Aylee stretched, her spine popping, and sighed. Her feet ached from standing all day. And they hadn't had anything to eat. She followed the hem of Ben's cloak on the ground ahead of her and tried not to think much as they turned corners and walked down endless, glowing tan corridors.

Eventually, the guard opened a door and ushered them inside.

Aylee glanced around at the apartment lit with dim orange light.

"Why's it so dark?" she asked.

The guard tilted his head. "Hunters' time, Consular. You and your h'ringa should rest."

She nodded at him without understanding much and ventured into the apartment made for giants. Tir-Zen bustled around an area in the middle of the floor tossing pillows and soft looking things into place by some logic she didn't understand.

"Are we having a sleepover?" Aylee asked him when they got near.

He looked over at her and then dropped onto one of the nests he had made. "I had the steward bring baby blankets and pillows," he said, patting the cushion he sat on. "The beds are like slate, and..." He waved a hand at the towering plateau well above their heads.

Ingenuity always was his strong suit.

Aylee nestled into the blankets and pillows and let out another bone-deep sigh. Her aches had aches. "Good decision-making, Tee," she said, dropping her head back on a pillow and closing her eyes.

He huffed.

Ben dropped his cloak among the blankets and made himself comfortable, and for a few minutes they luxuriated in the simple act of not talking.

"That word they keep calling us," Ben said, honey voiced hushed. "What do you think it means?"

Aylee sat up, but it was Tir-Zen who answered him.

"H'ringa? It means relations," he told them.

"Relations?"

Tee nodded. "A non-hierarchical, generic designation. Ujjwala said they have large extended families, and it just means...somewhere in that family. They don't seem to care where."

"Ujjwala?" Aylee asked.

He ducked his head a little and averted his eyes.

 _Interesting._

"The steward who brought the pillows. We...didn't have much to talk about, so I asked her."

Aylee tried very hard to hide a smile. "Relations." She rolled the idea around. "So, do they think you're my son?"

Tir-Zen shrugged. "They don't know and aren't speculating. But...since Master Kenobi and I defer to you, they _do_ think you're our matriarch. Which makes us h'ringa."

"Matriarch!" A laugh bubbled up. Was that just a kind way of saying oldest?

Tee shrugged.

Ben leaned forward, lit with curiosity. "So, wait, does that make you and I h'ringa too?" he said, gesturing to Tee.

Another shrug. "I don't know, master. The explanation was...long." Tir-Zen frowned.

"Well, is there a limit? I mean, at some point everyone in a species is related to another in some way."

Tee shrugged again. "She didn't say. I didn't think to ask."

"Ah." Ben waved it away. "Doesn't matter, I suppose."

Aylee smirked at herself as a little demon of mischief settled on her shoulder. "So... what else did you and Ujjwala talk about?"

Her padawan did not mistake her tone, and kept his reply as staid as he could. "Food," he said, and got up. He returned with a single platter several feet across bearing things that certainly looked like they could be foods. He set it down in the center of the circle of nests. "At first she brought these nuts that were like this." He held his palms a few feet apart. "She broke one for me and I tried to eat it, but even that was too tough. So...I asked if they ever ground them up for anything. She went to talk to the cook and then brought me this." He waved at the platter. "Well. A lot more than this, but we worked it out. Each one is a different nut paste."

"And in the middle?" Ben pointed to a heap of dark brown slices.

"Mushrooms," Tir-Zen supplied. "Ujjwala says it's a main food source."

"Does she," Aylee said. She coudln't help it, and grinned at Tir-Zen like a fool.

"Master." He scowled.

"What?"

He poked at one of the mounds of paste sullenly. "Please don't."

The chiding hit the mark. He hadn't always been so easy to embarrass. She hadn't meant for him to take it to heart.

"Please accept your matriarch's formal apology," she told him.

"Maybe."

"If?"

He chucked a pillow at her face. She let it hit and fell backward into the nest of blankets.

"I don't think that was proper etiquette," she told the ceiling in all seriousness. Tee snorted, and she added the pillow to her collection as she sat up.

Ben looked at them like they were fools. _Amusing_ fools, so that was something.

"So, are we trying this or not?" he asked, indicating the platter.

Aylee scooted closer and leaned in for a better look. The selection closest to her was a snow-white finely milled paste that looked like clay. They had no utensils, so she reached out and scooped up a fingerful. She sniffed at it cautiously, then tasted.

It was surprisingly sweet and melted at the touch of her tongue into a rich liquor. Heavenly. She sighed and must have made a pleasured sound based on the smirks on the others' faces.

"Dessert. Definitely," she said, pointing and savoring the lingering sweetness.

Ben reached for the purple one and licked the paste from his finger. He convulsed, and his eyes went wide with alarm.

"Hot!" he managed, breathless, and started flailing his hands.

Tee bolted for the area under the table.

In the seconds he was gone, Ben's face flushed red and his eyes watered. He panted and stuck his tongue out so he could fan at it, adorably undignified. Aylee bit her lip as tears streamed down his face and he flapped pointlessly.

Tir-Zen returned with a basin of that sweet wine and shoved a cup of it into Ben's hands.

He drank. Paused to pant. Drained the cup and motioned for more. Second cup down, he stopped to catch his breath and wipe at his face.

"Don't. Try that," he said between breaths and raised his cup toward Tee for another refill, slightly shaky.

Aylee curled her lips over her teeth and stared at the little mound of purple paste. She dug out her cup and handed it to Tir-Zen, gearing up. She rocked forward and braced on one hand to reach, and then swiped up a smaller sample than Ben had tried. They both stared at her as she tried it.

Pain ripped across her tongue at the first touch, and she flinched just as Ben had done. The heat seared the back and sides of her mouth, and when she swallowed, it traced a line down, like swallowing lava. She sucked a breath, and somehow that made it worse. Her vision blurred as her eyes watered, and she guzzled down a first cup of wine. Even her stomach burned, and she half-expected to exhale flames.

She panted out great gusts and tried not to let her tongue touch anywhere inside her mouth.

Tir-Zen plucked her cup from her hand and refilled it.

She eaten less and managed to recover somewhat more quickly than Ben had. She shuddered with the adrenaline rush, with her body's sure determination that it had just been poisoned. She glanced over to find Ben staring at her with incredulity.

"I _just_ said!"

She nodded, calmed her breath. "I know. But I still had to try, didn't I?"

His quirked eyebrow testified that that did _not_ sound like solid reasoning. Tee asked him for the cup from his pack, and they exchanged accoutrement. When Tir-Zen finally sat back in his spot, Aylee turned the platter so the purple paste sat in front of him. He glanced down at it, then up at her.

"Why would I do that?" he asked.

Aylee patted away sweat and tear tracks with her sleeve. "Because. We did."

He gave her a flat look.

Ben sighed, his breathing returned to normal, and took a sip of wine. "How about... because all the cool kids are doing it?"

Tee seemed even less impressed with that and actually rolled his eyes.

"New worlds. New experiences," Aylee told him, and pointed.

He made a face, hesitated as he reached out, but took a small bit of the purple, nameless food on the tip of his finger. He popped it into his mouth...

And nothing happened.

He rolled it around his mouth, clearly tasting, but stared back at them unmoved.

"Seriously?" Aylee's jaw dropped a little. "Nothing?"

"It... tastes..." He searched for the word. "Herbal. And meaty. It's not bad."

"Not bad!" Ben barked, and laughed a little. "Well, we know which one you're having."

Tir-Zen grinned and scooped up a larger helping on two fingers, licking them clean with no small bit of pride.

They went around sampling the rest: a savory mottled brown one, an oily green option that left them feeling sated. They even tried the mushroom slices, which were cooked crunchy on the edges and had a bit of chew. When they'd finished, Tee took the platter back under the table and returned with a basin and some torn bits of cloth so they could wash up.

Full and drowsy from the wine, Aylee flopped back onto her nest of blankets and pillows. She scowled at the lump of the chignon beneath her head and sat up enough to pull out the pin and shake her air free. She caught Ben watching with that amused, secretive grin.

"What?"

His grin widened. "Nothing. Just... thinking, oh wise and _venerated_ leader."

She narrowed her eyes. "Shut up. They listen to me because I'm the one talking. You know, you could help in there if you wanted."

"Me?" He stretched and leaned back on his elbows. "I'm just a babysitter."

She chucked a pillow at his head.

It hit and fell to the side.

He hmphed and gave her a steady look. "I thought that was poor etiquette," he said seriously.

She smirked, shrugged, and said lightly, "Matriarch."

And yawn pulled from somewhere around her toes, and Aylee stretched and curled into the nest on her side. Tir-Zen had laid down opposite her, his head the same direction.

"Master," he said, crackling leaves and cold winters in the rasp of his voice.

"Hmm?" She blinked her eyes open to look at him.

"I'm going to help the Herglics tomorrow. They should be here by morning."

She nodded into her pillow, pleased by his enthusiasm and initiative. "I think that's a good idea. Call if there are any problems."

Everything felt heavy, and Aylee let her eyes drift shut.

"Of course, Master."

 **OBI-WAN**

Fifteen hours.

Fifteen hours they spent locked in a meeting room, with barely any breaks and too hard chairs. Aylee had warned him in the dawn hours that she expected gridlock. Things had gone too easily the day before. Anyone could agree to a revote. Accepting the results no matter how they came in...that was the hard sell.

Obi-Wan tried being less like furniture, and offered his opinion when the conversation seemed to warrant. He couldn't tell if it helped, but the kind look in Aylee's eyes-the unspoken thanks-counted for something, he thought. Otherwise, she stood alone wrestling these giants.

Sometimes, he lost the conversation and just watched her, leaning her hands against the table as she eyed a speaker, calculating a response. Delivering off-the-cuff oratories fit for a Chancellor. She held the Loxans transfixed, and he could not look away.

The Tusks had to agree to abide the revote results. There was no other option. Ships and weapons returned to government control. Amnesty for anyone involved in the recent conflict. It came down to sweeteners tacked onto the accord, unrelated laws or tax breaks to give the Tusks some claim to victory, even if they eventually lost. Obi-Wan's eyes had glazed over then, and he only came to when chairs started moving.

It was well into the Besk evening when they returned to their room. Obi-Wan's back and bottom ached, and he rolled his shoulders as they crossed to the nest in the center of the room.

"Hmm." Aylee made a sound and looked around the dim apartment.

Tir-Zen had left at dawn and still wasn't back.

Obi-Wan's stomach growled as he slid his cloak off onto the pile of blankets. "Dinner?" he asked Aylee.

She turned her attention his direction and nodded, a small smile quickly sliding back into a frown. She pulled at one of the pins holding her hair up in a more elaborate fashion than yesterday and winced when it got tangled and wouldn't come free.

Obi-Wan watched her for a moment before stepping closer. "Here," he said. "Let me."

She let her hands drop, too tired to keep struggling, and turned to give him access. His gaze touched the exposed nape of her neck, and a sudden, keen awareness shot through him that they were alone. Her fine hair slid across his hands like water as he worked to untangled strands and ease the pins out one by one. The urge to run his fingers through her hair kicked up unbidden, and he pressed it down, focusing very carefully on his movements. An urge starved of attention would fade. With the last pin gone, she gave a little shake and sighed as everything fell loose.

"Thanks," she said, sounding tired, and took the pins, grazing her fingers against his palm. "I suppose we're having nut paste and mushrooms?"

Obi-Wan closed his hand around the sensation, troubled that his awareness pulled to it. He folded his thoughts and put them away. Dinner. He smirked and started for the table. "What, you don't like the local delicacies?"

She trailed him. "I'd kill for a Gamorrean pork roast about now."

He smiled and bent to pick up the platter that, presumably, Ujjwala had left them.

"Well, I've got good news," he said, turning. Aylee's eyebrows lifted. "We've got nut paste and mushrooms."

She snorted out a soft laugh and moved to get the basin of wine left for them, as well.

They settled in and ate largely in silence. The good silence. After a day of nothing but boomed voices vibrating your bones, Obi-Wan found himself quite taken with the stillness. Aylee seemed loathe to break it as well and resorted to gestures and questioning looks to determine when their unhurried meal was over.

A few times, he caught her looking at the door or the starlit night through the window.

They set up the Chal'tek board in the middle of the nest and started to play.

Obi-Wan was studying the board, his chin in his hand, when a door they'd never used slid suddenly open.

Tir-Zen stood in the servants' entranceway, his white clothes smeared with dirt. Something dark and wet-blood-covered the side of his face. He stared at them for a moment, breathing hard. Every line of his body radiated tension.

Aylee sat up, too stunned to speak, staring.

He turned on his heel and hurried for the washroom.

"Tir-Zen!" Aylee leapt up and ran after him.

The door closed and locked before she got there, and she pounded her hand against it. "Tir-Zen!" She beat on the door, sucking panicked breaths. "Tir-Zen, let me in!"

Obi-Wan approached slowly, watching her spin and attack the door in distress. The boy _had_ been bleeding.

Aylee grabbed her lightsaber, but then stared hard at the locked door and very slowly clipped the hilt back to her hip.

"Would you like me to try?" Obi-Wan asked.

She whirled on him, incensed, and he put up his hands in a placating gesture. In answer to her unspoken question, he nodded toward the door. "He doesn't care as much what I think."

She stared at him for a moment, turning that over, then nodded and backed away, as though Tir-Zen could sense her proximity. "I'm..." She pointed somewhere outside the apartment. "I'll just..." She frowned, a look of hurt crumpling her features before she turned to go.

Obi-Wan waited until she was gone before approaching the door. He pressed his hands flat against it.

"Tir-Zen?" he called. "She's gone." He waited and listened. Nothing. "I'd like to be able to report that her padawan isn't going to die from a concussion!" How thick were these doors? He gazed up at the lock on the door, willing it green. "Look, if someone attacked you, we need to know!"

He hoped his voice carried through the heavy door and pressed his ear against it, searching for any small indication of life. Doubt crept up the back of his neck.

"Tir-!"

The lock clicked, and Obi-Wan snatched himself back as the door slid into the wall.

He couldn't have said what he was expecting.

It wasn't this.

Tir-Zen huddled in the pool of his cloak, folded and hugging his knees. His body wracked with shaking, and he wheezed a terrible creaking sound.

Obi-Wan edged into the room carefully, and after a moment, his chest constricted.

Sobbing. Tir-Zen was sobbing. Hugging himself and rocking and tearing his throat in the process.

It was wrong. And for a moment Obi-Wan looked on in shock at such undisciplined emotion. Surely a padawan of his age should be better trained.

But then the boy sucked in a breath and curled his fingers over his horns and cried like no one watched, like he was simply too small a container for grief. Obi-Wan swallowed a hard lump in his throat and eased down onto the floor next to him. Sympathy yawned open behind his ribs, and the emptiness stung his eyes.

"Tir-Zen," he said, unsure, alarmed by the depth of sorrow.

The boy sniffed and lifted his head. He gasped for breath. "I'm trying..." Between the thickness and his rasping, he was almost indecipherable. "I'm trying. But I can't. I can't. I can't be the river. I'm trying..."

 _What?_

Obi-Wan shook his head, baffled, as Tir-Zen collapsed back down, crying harder. "I'm sorry..." He felt his own tears building. "I don't know what that means..." _How do I help you?_

Tir-Zen huffed in a few ragged breaths and turned to look at him. "I'm trying to let it go. I am!"

"I believe you," he said quickly, and his hands itched to do something useful.

"But I-I saw..." He caught his breath and frowned, shaking his head. "There were so many," he whispered. "I thought-" His expression cracked again with guilt and horror. "It didn't help." Such small words.

Obi-Wan's heart sank in his chest as he understood, and a chill swept over him. He'd been out all day searching for people-and finding bodies. He put a hand on Tir-Zen's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"War is always ugly," he said. _You're not alone._

Tir-Zen sniffed and blinked at him. "H-have you..."

A solemn nod. "On Naboo. Humans and gungans against battle droids."

Tir-Zen swallowed and nodded and wiped his nose on his sleeve with a sniffle. Obi-Wan let go of his shoulder and watched him pick at his clothes, gray with dust and spotted with rusty blood. His hands were lined with scrapes and shook a little, but the tears had ebbed. He hunched into himself.

The danger seemed to have passed.

Obi-Wan drew his knees up and mirrored the boy's pose. He hooked his chin over his arm.

"Can I ask what happened to your head?" He tried to make it sound conversational instead of worried.

Without shifting his attention from a blood spot, Tir-Zen shrugged. "Clearing a path into an office building. A wall collapsed. Threw chunks everywhere." He shook his head. "Happened too fast for me to see. I didn't"-he fanned open the fingers of one hand-"catch it in time."

Shocked dismay stirred in Obi-Wan's stomach, and he sat up a little, his opinion of the Herglics rapidly dropping. "And they didn't patch you up?"

Tir-Zen glanced out of the corner of his eye and tried to become smaller. "I didn't let them," he admitted in the smallest of voices.

Obi-Wan uncurled and leaned back against the cool stone wall, scowling and silent. This was not his padawan to yell at, but the instinct remained strong.

In the absence of a rebuke, Tir-Zen relaxed and even chanced unwinding enough to peer in Obi-Wan's direction.

He ignored him and concentrated his scowl on the opposite wall.

"I'll... go have it looked at," Tir-Zen said.

Obi-Wan let the scowl melt, trying not to be _too_ proud of himself, and met the boy's eyes. "That would be wise," he told him.

Tir-Zen nodded and slumped back against the wall. His breathing had returned to normal, though his eyes remained bloodshot-a terrifying look against the orange irises. He rubbed a thumb around one palm, staring down at it.

"Are you going to tell her?" he asked eventually, his mouth drawn in a guilty grimace.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I have to tell her something." Tir-Zen's grimace deepened, and it tugged at him. "You've nothing to be ashamed of," Obi-Wan said, voice easy and earnest. Did he believe that now? He hadn't when he'd opened the door. All he'd seen then was a failure to uphold the Code.

Tir-Zen shot him a look. "You aren't going to tell me to mind my emotions? Not let it affect me?"

He _should_ say it. Yoda would say it. "Wasn't planning on it. Though, we could meditate for a while. If you like."

Tir-Zen shook his head gently and got up. He slouched into his cloak as Obi-Wan go to his feet.

"I think I'll go find the infirmary," Tir-Zen whispered, not quite looking him in the eye. Something of guilt and shame rested there. He hadn't wanted any witnesses, and Obi-Wan could feel the weight of his intrusion and the trust placed in him by allowing it.

He let him go with a nod and not another word.

Tir-Zen got a few minutes' head start before Obi-Wan went venturing out in search of Aylee. They hadn't seen too much of the building's interior save what lay between the conference room and the apartment. There weren't many places he thought she might go. Still, he opened his perception and let the Force guide him.

The hallway opened into a vast cavern that housed a pool and fountain-a waterfall really-that burbled and plashed into a constructed basin. Even the low wall around one of their decorative pools was too high, and Obi-Wan found Aylee sitting on top of it, bouncing her heels against the stone.

She perked when she noticed him crossing the room and ceased the bouncing. He fought the urge to run rather than bear those long moments of anxious staring. But there was nothing to worry really. And a calm approach would prove it.

He reached the wall and vaulted up, skin burning from her focused attention.

"He's fine," he told her, and she sagged in relief, letting her eyes fall shut. "He just had... a rough day." That wasn't too much detail, he hoped.

She nodded thoughtfully and drew a breath, swaying back to examine the ceiling. "And he's getting too old to want to tell _me_ about it," she said. A sad, wistful smile crossed her face, and she shook her head a little.

"He..." Obi-Wan hesitated. He wasn't trying to accuse. And it certainly wasn't his place... Aylee watched him. "He seems very...emotional," he said. "It won't help him in the Trials."

Something shifted behind her eyes, an opening now closed, and he regretted having said it. But it _was_ true. A padawan his age should have more control.

"He'll be fine," she replied. "He just needs time."

Years. To mature enough. That could be true.

The silence stretched too long.

"He told me something I didn't understand."

That got her attention, and she tilted her head in curiosity.

"I can't be the river," he repeated Tir-Zen's words, and the effect was immediate.

Aylee smiled knowingly and nodded. She rocked back, gripping the edge of the wall. Mist from the fountain gathered in the air, cooling it, and left droplets on her hair. She was piecing together a reply. She sat forward again and looked at him.

"It's something my master used to say. Belami the Lesser."

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow. "Never heard of him."

She smirked. "I did say 'lesser.'" And gave him a wry looked. "It's...how we talk about the Force," she said. "Being the river means...being in the present moment."

That rang true. But Obi-Wan suspected there was more. She had chosen her words carefully. And maybe the politicians were rubbing off on him, but the very act of care presupposed treacherous ground.

He nodded, accepting it at face value for now, though his curiosity longed to know what had made her pause and pick over her words.

He turned to look at the waterfall, his curiosity nudging him with something else now that he'd acknowledged it. In the periphery, he saw Aylee turn, too, and swing her legs over the side, nearly kicking the water. So far he'd challenged her and then tread heavily where he shouldn't have. Why not go for three?

"Can I ask you something?" he said, glancing over.

She lifted an eyebrow.

"I don't... mean to be rude. But... his voice?"

She smiled like she'd wondered when they'd get around to it. "Birth defect in his vocal cords." She shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't hurt unless he tries to shout."

Obi-Wan nodded, unreasonably relieved that there hadn't been a trauma.

"Anything _else_ you want to know?" she asked with a hint of amusement.

He watched the waterfall a moment longer and then turned to look at her, perfectly innocent. "Ready to turn in?"

She eyed him and then smirked before turning to hop off the wall.

 _Danger!_

Power rushed from Obi-Wan's hands as he snapped awake, flinging his companions across the room. They slammed into the far wall.

Tree-trunk feet thudded on the floor where they had been.

Darkness everywhere. Crushing blindness.

 _Move!_

He rolled, and came to his feet swinging. His lightsaber arced though the air as he spun, clearing the space around him. _Too dark to see._

 _Thumpthump,_ his heart. Adrenaline rushed through him, expanding, quickening. _Trust the Force._

He ducked and charged, forms emerging in the glow of his saber. Somewhere blurring at the edge of his vision, green and gold blades flashed to life, and he focused. On the rush in his blood, on the will of the Force. A tusk struck through the air, and he swung high. It severed, fell with a crack. The tip of his sword had scored flesh, too, and he smelled it burn. He took his saber in both hands and swung it like a bat at his attacker.

The blade met resistance as he cut into a leg, and for the first time he heard a Loxan scream.

It shook his bones. His ears hurt and popped with the pressure change.

 _Pant._

He channeled Force into his body and and heaved against the blade, burning through skin and bone. The creature bellowed and swung at him.

He cut the power, ducked a fist and lunging trunk, and then jumped. One foot on the Loxan's knee, its half-severed foot dangling while it balanced on the other, and then another leap for its chest. He thrust the hilt against its body and hit the power.

The lightsaber flared into life, slicing through the Loxan's chest. But perhaps not its heart. It roared and reared back. Swung a massive hand at its chest to squash him.

Obi-Wan cut the blade again and dropped to the floor. He dove between its legs, came up, and leaped at it from behind. Loxans were big, which meant slow. Before it could turn, he thrust his lightsaber into its chest from the back. One hand on the hilt and one dug into its clothing, he pulled on the Force for strength, strained to haul himself in, and cut through the creature's body from one side to the other. An impossible angle without the Force to help him.

He dropped to the floor again, watching the giant form.

Aylee and Tir-Zen fought another in the corner.

The body looming above him took a second to realize that it was dead. It flailed, and the motion sent its balance backward. Obi-Wan shoved at it with the Force to send it the other way.

 _Danger!_

He spun toward a third assailant.

Too late.

It hit like a wrecking ball. A fist the size of his torso smashed into him, and he went flying through the darkness, shattering with pain.

He might've blacked out. Couldn't tell. Suddenly he was on the floor, stars flecking his vision.

Had to get up.

He staggered to his feet, trying to breathe.

A curdling scream ploughed through the air and something heavy hit the ground as Aylee's lightsaber whipped around.

Obi-Wan focused and blinked. Blinding white pain radiated through his body. He breathed. It stabbed deeper, but he ignited his blade. He could see the Loxan outlined in the low light and held himself ready. It raised a blaster and fired.

He swung, batting the shot back the way it came. It hit the creature in the chest, and it grunted from the impact. It shot again and got more of the same. Obi-Wan closed on it, keeping his movements small while he kept the blade spinning.

His chest. Ah. He winced at the spreading agony and edged closer, daring the assassin to shoot again.

It lowered its head and cast the weapon aside. He heard it clatter to the ground. Its bulk moved, and he knew it was going to charge. He pulled on the Force, gathering it in. Muscles protested at the strain, but it was move or die.

The Loxan lunged.

It's steps faltered.

Without so much as a cry, it fell forward. Its tusks clattered on the floor. And Tir-Zen slowly stood up, visible by green light as he drew his saber from the back of its neck.

"Aylee!" Obi-Wan called.

 _Thumpthump._ Burning.

"Sleep," he heard her say over the sound of agonized moaning. Struggling sounds. Then, "Sleep." Louder, "Here!"

They gathered together in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, their backs toward one another in a defensive circle.

"Nice instincts," Aylee said.

He shrugged with effort. "I like to be useful."

The door opened suddenly, and the lights came on.

They all spun, sabers drawn.

"What's going-"

A security guard stopped midsentence when he looked at them and the bodies on the floor around them. "I'm- I'll get the captain."

They stowed their sabers, and Obi-Wan glanced at Aylee. She had a hand pressed to her side and a pained expression.

"Are you..." he gasped for air. "All right?"

She turned and saw him looking, then glanced at her own hand in surprise. "Yeah, I'm-"

Ytan thundered into the room. "Consular!"

Obi-Wan's breath came short. Too short. Each inhale like knives. There was only pain. Only pain.

Aylee said something about leaving one alive and waved in the direction of a Loxan with a severed trunk.

It _hurt. Oh..._

He bent, shaking, and sucked for air. It came in ropey and wet, and he coughed. The pressure on his chest built, like being crushed. He coughed so hard it staggered him, and then he couldn't stop.

 _No air. Pain! No air!_

Blood splattered on the floor. It coated his mouth.

"Ben!"

Aylee slid under one arm and held him up.

He gasped, pulling in a wet breath. It rattled. And it wasn't enough. Animal terror ripped through him as he scrabbled at her shoulder and let her take his weight. He wracked again with terrible coughing, knives of ice and fire.

"We need-" Aylee started to say.

A Loxan on a levitating gurney whisked into the room, presumably called to deal with the bodies. The humans all cast doubtful gazes up at the bed, high above their heads.

Obi-Wan panted in small gasps, trembling and tasting his own blood.

Ytan moved toward them. "I apologize Master Jedi," he said and reached out. Aylee slipped out from under Obi-Wan's arm, and Ytan's massive hand replaced her.

It might've been embarassing to be lifted like a child, if he hadn't been busy drowning in his own fluids. Ytan set him down gently and the nurse pulled up a screen to start a scan.

Gasp.

Gasp.

"Tir-Zen, stay with him." Aylee's voice. To Ytan, she said darkly, "Get me the Damarque." Both obeyed, and in a moment Tir-Zen's horned head loomed into Obi-Wan's narrowing vision.

He felt the burble of another cough and groaned to turn on his side. More blood splattered onto the gurney, and his throat burned along with everything else. They were in motion, already zipping on autopilot with the doctor worked.

She came at him with a needle, and then stopped. She frowned at the size of the implement. It looked to him like a spear.

"Babies!" Tir-Zen tried to shout at her. "Use what you'd use for babies!"

Her trunk curled in distress. "We don't-"

Obi-Wan moaned at the crushing pressure in his chest.

She hit a communicator on her tusk. "I need a med-evac to Holy Mount. Have NICU meet me with a trauma kit." The dispatcher questioned if they'd heard right. "Yes, a NICU. And hurry!"

She dropped an oxygen mask over half Obi-Wan's body and turned the cart manually, pushing them down a different hall.

Obi-Wan focused on the sensation of blood rattling in his lungs and the sight of Tir-Zen's fingers curling over an air hole in mask as he kept watch.

 **AYLEE**

"I promise you, Consular, we'll find those responsible," the Damarque said as Aylee paced in front of the desk in her office.

Still high from the fight and edgy with worry, she couldn't stop moving and waved Khundari's apology away. "I need to question the prisoner."

The Damarque's large eyebrow lifted. "I'm sure Captain Ytan-"

"Is not a Jedi," Aylee cut in and flicked her a dangerous look.

Khundari drew back a little from the lash of her tone. "No..." She conceded the point with a bow of her head, and then pressed a button on the comlink on her desk. Ytan's voice boomed back an acknowledgment. "Captain. When you've secured the prisoner, the Consular would like to speak to him," she said evenly, though her large eyes scanned Aylee with an uneasy wariness. Though not an undo wariness. The reputation of the Order had surely preceded her in this.

Aylee tipped her head at the acquiescence and resumed her pacing. Both of them fell into a strained silence. By the time Ytan appeared to escort Aylee to the detention center, the air had grown thick with foreboding and questions and doubt.

The Loxans gave no pretense of comfort to their prisoners. They swept through an underground tunnel of that tan earthen concrete into a structure of dark metal and transplastoid barriers. Any suggestion of warmth and earth and sky had been stripped. The lights all glowed with the heatless chill of a moon.

Aylee strode at Ytan's side quickly enough to keep with his pace. She caught him looking down a few times and wondered what it was he held back. They passed into a corridor of force field cells. The buzz of the single activated cell ricocheted off every polished surface, and it was the only thing Aylee could hear over her own heartbeat. The blue energy crackled across the cell opening and charged the air.

They stopped, and Ytan glanced down.

"He's been restrained for your safety, Consular."

She nodded once slowly and did not look up at him. The river of the Force washed at her back, crisp and cleansing. "You should stay out here," she said, voice a steel sheet.

Ytan's shoulders twitched as he stepped to the side and bowed much the way the Damarque had done. He press a key into the locking mechanism on the door, punched a code, and the force field dropped.

Aylee tossed her hair as she pulled herself up rod straight. Her jaw flexed. And she strode into the cavern of a cell.

Her would-be assassin sagged against the wall, held off the floor by wrist restraints. She wondered that their bodies could take such stress. But... perhaps they really couldn't. Perhaps that was the point.

His mangled face looked nothing like a Loxan any longer. A vast field of blackened red flesh marred where his trunk had been before a slice from her lightsaber had removed it. His tusks bore black ash on their abrupt, flat stumps from the same cut. Every breath heaved from his body moaned with the misery of trees in a storm.

He blinked and roused when the force field went down and came to full life when he saw her beyond the chair and table between them.

"YOU!" He threw himself forward, arching against his wrists. He shook shook and clawed with rage. Lifted his head and bellowed. The sound rattled the chair. He slammed back against the wall and lunged again, stamping great feet in frustration.

Aylee hopped up onto the chair and up onto the table to be at eye level. His fury splashed against a cliffside, leaving him nothing but frothing and panting. Even that more difficult now.

"You... took my _trunk_!" he screamed and struggled to reach her, whipping his blunted tusks.

His suffering beat against her senses. The physical pain was the least of it. The flesh hurt. But what she'd _taken._

She drew a shuddering breath and pushed it away.

"I could have killed you," she told him. The look of hate in his eyes narrowed, and she returned it with cool disinterest. "I still might."

"Maybe you should."

She tipped her head to the side. "When you're done being useful, I'll think about it."

His lips curled back in a sneer and he leaned back against the wall, letting the tension on his arms ease. "Do your worst," he muttered.

Aylee took a step closer and stared unblinking into one of his eyes. "You shouldn't ask me to do that."

After a breath where she did not look away, his forehead creased with worry. He looked away first.

"I want to know who you're working for," she said.

He huffed, unimpressed with her interrogation tactics, apparently, and shook his head. She widened her stance and let her sense of the Force coagulate, the pendulum of her attention swinging lower and lower.

"I want to be perfectly clear with you. I'll find out what I want to know, whether you tell me or not. The hard way just hurts more."

He jerked in some aborted motion and tossed his head.

 _So be it, then._

The Living Force in every being vibrates with an energy unique to itself. Aylee lifted a hand, fingers splayed, and reached with the Force. When two come into contact, the disharmony manifests as a repulsion-an inherent inability to combine. And this, in the mind, becomes pain.

She focused on the center of his head and let her eyes fall shut. With a swift, precise flick of her fingers she sliced into the Force within him, consciousness to consciousness. He gasped and grunted, falling back against the wall, but the key, _the key_ is to maintain the breach. It will try to close, like similar magnets straining to be apart. Force of will maintains the rupture. Will sharpened by years of careful training.

The thoughts a jumble at first. Flashes of pain. The prison. The attack.

She moved her fingers as though to turn a page through his thoughts. Each memory a glass sheet. He resisted. But her fingers moved. The sheet snapped.

Screams.

The Loxan's agonies splashed into the Force's flow and washed away, swept on a tide of time.

 _Flick._ Scream.

 _Flick._ Bellow.

He pulled and panted and snapped his wrist.

 _Flick._

"The more you struggle, the greater a chance of permanent damage," she told him, cool and distant, distracted by the memories she dug from his skull.

Political rallies. A Plainswalker.

A comlink call late at night while the air smelled of smoke. A job. A hired gun.

He was no activist.

 _Flick._

"Please!"

She let him rest-remember what relief felt like. "Who was the call from?"

"Wh-"

The hard way, then. With a firm grip on the slippery memory, she drew it close and wore his skin, his eyes, his ears.

 _"...before negotiations are complete..."_

A woman's voice. An _off-worlder's_ voice. Aylee frowned, holding her captive's mind still while he keened. She focused on the conversation, her fingers moving ever so slightly, scrubbing through the memory.

 _"Peace is unprofitable."_

No names. Of course, no names. But who would find peace unprofitable?

Aylee dropped her hold and spun around. Behind her, the Loxan sagged as far as his arms would allow, shuddering at the stab of pain from his broken bones and moaning with each breath. Aylee gave him a glance as some of her detachment faltered, but she pinned it in place with the hasty assertion that she _hadn't_ really pressed hard enough to leave damage.

"Ytan!" Aylee called as she jumped to the floor.

He opened the force field and let her out, backing out of her way.

 _Fear._

He made space between them out of a newly burnished fear, and Aylee stopped to look up at him. Guilt struck a spike into her chest as he curled his trunk under and edged forward to peer into the room. He pressed the lock again, blue force field flaring to life, and looked down at her without saying anything.

"Ytan?" she asked, letting concern color her voice again. It wasn't always a quick trip back. The Force could flow around you, a stone in the flow of the river. Or you could be the river. Either could be easy. The transition was difficult.

He hesitated. "You..." He glanced in through the cell. "You tortured him."

The word felt heavy in the air, and Aylee grimaced at the ugly feel of it.

"I read his mind," she said, turning away. "It can feel like torture." She started to walk, drawing Ytan with her.

His thrumming voice rumbled at her back. "What's the difference?"

Her steps slowed, and she looked up at him, catching one eye. "Intent," she said. "And they can't lie."

He frowned, but his trunk swung a bit more freely as they walked. She hoped that meant something; still feared she'd changed utterly in his regard. They passed out of the cell corridor and into the main security station.

"Ytan."

"Consular?"

She moved toward a computer console. "You have weapons manufacturers on Besk?"

"For police and security?"

"No, no, I mean, war machines. The fighters who shot at us, the ships that bombed the city..."

He nudged her out of the way with his trunk and tapped on the keyboard. "Two. Oppilan Aerospace and Laabh." He brought up the HoloNet sites for each, alongside internal security files and gestured for her to take a look. "Why?"

"Because whoever hired those assassins is profiting off the war. And they want to keep profiting." She glanced at him. "Who would you suspect?"

His expression darkened. "We should speak to the Damarque."

She nodded, the voice of the off-worlder rolling around in her head.

Khundari stood and leaned over to see her better. "You're not...leaving?" She sounded incredulous.

Aylee sighed, duty and care warring beneath her skin. "It's not safe for us here," she said quietly.

The Damarque's ears flared. "Jedi run from danger?"

It was a low blow, but not one she didn't deserve.

"There's more than just politics going on," Aylee told her, and started pacing the floor again. "That assassin..." She shook her head. "He wasn't an ideologue. It was business."

"Oppilan and Laabh." Khundari crossed her arms and gave Ytan a long look. "Do you really think..."

"That money is a great motivator?" he finished her thought and scowled. "I think it bears looking into."

Aylee paused, apprehension itching at her neck. That _voice_. A sense of ice and darkness crowded at her shoulders.

"There's something else," she said, before she could second-guess it. Her mouth pulled into a grave line. "It's not _just_ Loxan profit. There's an off-worlder involved."

Khundari's arms dropped, and she leaned forward on her desk, bracing herself. "What do you mean?"

"The voice on the com calling in the hit... It wasn't Loxan."

"Then who-"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "But there are more hands in this war, in this election, than just Plainswalkers and Tusks."

A short silence fell while they all tried to imagine the implications of that. A civil war was bad enough. An _engineered_ one...

"Damarque." Ytan's voice rolled across the room like thunder. "We failed the Consular once already. I don't..." It pained him to say it, but he pressed on. "I don't know that I can protect her from a threat capable of plotting on such a scale."

" _If_ it's true," the Damarque replied.

"If it's true."

Khundari bowed her head and gave Aylee a long look. "We can't ask you to stay if we can't guarantee your safety..." She conceded, the words breathy with defeat.

"Damarque." Defeat was no way to end her efforts on Besk. "In the end, I can only help your people so much... I'm just one person. We've made the opportunity for peace. You have to take it, not me." Khundari watched her, slowly straightening. A plan formed, plucked from the annals of history. "Call a vote between you and the Tusks. A vote for a provisional government to oversee everything we talked about putting motion."

"Provisional government..."

"Yes." She gained steam. "Getting changes through Parliament right now would take ages, yes?" The Damarque nodded. "Well you don't have ages. So... agree with the Tusks to suspend the parliament for the length of the election. Extraordinary powers. A secret vote among everyone in that meeting room. If you all agree, then you can announce _that_ to your people. And then you start the real work."

The Damarque gestured uneasily with her trunk. "The accords so far are just vague promises. Principles with no details! We've only gotten so far because you've been here."

"You don't need me..." Aylee shook her head. "Republic bureaucrats can work out the details of implementation far better than I could. It's what they do. The live broadcasts from every polling station, the Republic oversight, the factory set droids, the new wireless voting system. A provisional government can announce those changes to the populace and let bureaucrats work on the how. It will give people hope. A reason to set down their weapons."

Khundari frowned and sat slowly back down in her chair.

The comlink in Aylee's pouch chimed, and she dug it out, her pulse spiking. The light for a holomessage flashed, and Tir-Zen's image appeared above the disc when she answered.

"Tee?"

There'd been no word since the doctor had rushed them out the room.

"He's come out of surgery, master." _Surgery?_ "They had to remove bone from his lungs and seal up a ruptured liver, but they say he'll be fine. They've given him some medicine to speed healing."

Aylee breathed a sigh of relief, and her shoulders unknotted a little.

"Master. They'd like to know if they should bring him back to the Parliament building."

Aylee glanced up from the hologram at the Damarque, who gave her acquiesence with a look. "Bring him to the Vesper."

Tir-Zen gave her an odd look. "We're leaving?"

"Soon." She felt that cold wind up her back. "We just have a few more things to settle tomorrow."

Damarque Khundari drew a deep breath and sighed it out her trunk.

"Yes, Master."

Tee cut the communication, and Aylee slipped the disc back in her pouch. She looked up at Khundari.

"Anything more I can do for you, Damarque, I can do from orbit. The rest will be up to you."


	6. Return to Jedi Temple

**OBI-WAN**

A heavy shroud of self recrimination weighed on Obi-Wan's shoulders as he followed Aylee and Tir-Zen down the _Vesper_ 's ramp. His injuries had left her unguarded. Forced her to sacrifice her padawan's watchful eye to his care during a crucial time. He'd made himself a liability. If he'd been more perceptive in the fight... Or faster...

He had to do better next time.

The ache of his healing ribs made that point clear. He'd gone through two bacta patches on the trip home and slept most of the way, disturbed by dreams of screaming Loxans and the anxious doom lingering in the dark. Some bodyguard...

The three of them stepped onto Temple grounds, into Coruscant night, and Obi-Wan glanced up from his sullen thoughts to see that Masters Ti and Windu were waiting for them. He hadn't expected a welcoming committee, and something in him tensed with apprehension as he stopped at Aylee's side and bowed slightly to them both.

Master Windu gave Aylee a steady, stony look over his crossed arms. "Well? Was your mission a success? Is Besk joining the Republic?"

She shifted and straightened herself under his gaze. "I don't know. Not right now, at least."

"So you failed."

Obi-Wan flinched a little at the tone, icy as he'd ever heard it. Master Ti narrowed her eyes.

Aylee scowled at them. "I stopped a civil war! I wouldn't call that a failure. No matter who wins the next election, we'll have purchased good will for the Republic."

Master Windu cut a look at Obi-Wan and lifted an eyebrow.

"She's right," he offered, and resisted the urge to edge himself between them. "The situation was far worse than we'd been led to believe. We landed in a bombed out shell of a city. People were dying. By the time we left, the planet was under a truce. We saved many lives."

Shaak Ti nodded gravely at him. "We heard you called in the Herglics for medical assistance," she said, and turned to start walking in from the landing pad. Obi-Wan felt dragged in her wake, and when Master Windu quickly fell in at his side, it hit him like a sudden slap what they'd done. Cornering him between them, relegating Aylee and Tir-Zen to a trailing archipelago where they could hear but not be heard.

"Well, _I_ didn't-" Obi-Wan started to say.

"The Herglics are ecstatic at the development." Master Ti spoke over him. "And it was a good strategic move."

"I agree," Obi-Wan told her. He could feel Aylee's presence behind him, her silence. The tension in his stomach twisted and started to burn.

"With a Herglic ambassador on Besk, the Loxans may be more inclined to join the Republic in the future," Master Windu added.

They passed indoors.

"Yes, it seemed to be of mutual advantage. Republic equipment wouldn't have been much use for creatures of their size, anyway." Obi-Wan agreed, frowning. They kept him moving at the center of their attention, deft deflections of stance and look. The work of masters. "But it wasn't-"

"Did you run into any trouble?"

His eyebrows shot up. "You mean aside from the assassination attempt?" Shaak Ti inclined her head. Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder trying to catch Aylee's eye. This felt wrong, simmering and pregnant with something beyond his ken. Why were they asking _him_? "Well. Master Desai believes there was more behind the civil war and stolen election than just political ideology."

"Does she." Master Windu's tone could have sunk a starship. He did not look at her, or even acknowledge that she stood only a few steps away. "Do _you_ have any proof?"

Unease condensed in Obi-Wan's chest as they moved into the atrium, and it ignited into guilt when he heard the steps behind them break off. He slowed and peered behind Master Windu's back to see Aylee marching swiftly away down the first available hallway, Tir-Zen a pace behind.

"Obi-Wan," Mace said, drawing his attention back.

"Do you have any _proof_?" His emphasis differed.

Obi-Wan frowned at him, rankled by the undue attention, the miasma of _something_ that turned their words to swords. "No, master." He ducked his head and refused to meet his gaze. "I wasn't at the interrogation." Though he wasn't keen on explaining why.

"Then we should keep such suspicions to ourselves," Shaak Ti said. "Unless we want to reignite the war."

Obi-Wan nodded at them absently, his attention still trained toward the hallway where Aylee had gone. Confusion churned with the guilt, and he found himself pulling away from them, from their strange and silent battle. Distrust sharpened in his gut. A surprising feeling, but his instincts clawed, and he had always had good instincts. He took a few steps toward a lift and tried to form an excuse that would pass inspection.

"I'm sorry, masters. I need to check on Anakin." He bowed a little to them. "His silence is dangerously uncharacteristic."

They seemed to buy it, at least enough to let him make an escape and give himself time to think.

 **AYLEE**

She made it back to the apartment before breaking at the seams. Crossed the threshold and stuttered to a halt as all her control crumbled under the force of a sob. Aylee pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to hold it in through force, through will, but her frame wracked, and there was no use in fighting. Ugly tears spilled down her cheeks as she made her way to her desk and leaned her hands against it.

The Council had long disapproved-a distant glowering of disappointed parents. Reprimand through exile. A slow starving. She knew. She _knew_... She hadn't expected _this_. An ambush. Public humiliation with Ben there to watch. To _participate_. And he had-her chest convulsed, hard and hurting-he had. A calculated cruelty.

Her face burned with the embarrassment of it. And she sucked a breath thick with phlegm before folding over until her forehead touched the desk and hiding under the spill of her arms. Her bones ached, necked burned, even her skin hurt with crying, and she trembled with sorrow. How could saving a planet feel so miserable? And how _how_ could she still want, after all this time, the Council's _approval_?

It was a fool's notion.

And she cried harder knowing herself a fool.

Aylee gasped and jerked at a sudden touch, and turned to see Tir-Zen stripped to a simple shirt. She blinked away tears enough to see his expression, drawn and sad. He tugged lightly on her shoulder, and she let herself be pulled into a hug. He was tall as a man, now. And had a solid strength. He rocked slightly as she sobbed into his chest. How many ways they were failing the Council right now... So much _emotion_ spilling everywhere _..._

"I'm sorry, Master," Tee said quietly.

She pulled back with a long sniff, wiping at her messy face, and looked at him—the weight of humiliation half what it had been. "How did I end up with you?" she asked, hoarse and unsteady.

He grinned and shrugged. "You were unlucky, Master."

She laughed in surprise. Laughed with a spreading sort of joy that squeezed out a few tears of its own and left her feeling clean. "May everyone be so unlucky," she said, and tugged on one of his horns.

He ducked his head in embarrassment and motioned toward his room, asking if he was dismissed. She let him go with a nod, too great a fondness lodged in her throat to speak. A moment later, his door swished shut and clicked, and she was alone.

She drew a breath and let it out in a trembling sigh. Emotions felt leave gullies in their wake, unique canyons of passing circumstance to be filled and filled by the stillness of time. Heavy and hollowed, she cut the lights and went to sit in the chair by the window. Silver white light shone in from Coruscant's endless activity, punctuated by drifting shapes of red and blue from passing vehicles. Aylee sat, watching, and curled her feet up under her, too drained to do much else, too many thoughts to sleep.

Her comlink chimed, the small sound filling the void of the room, and she reached into her pocket to answer it. A light indicated an imagecaster message, and she set the disc in the palm of her hand to answer. A hologram of Ben blinked back at her, and the hot sensation of humiliation rushed at her cheeks again.

"Hi," he said simply and scanned her face.

Two traitorous tears leaked out, chilling over heated skin, and Aylee swiped at them quickly with her fingers. "Hi."

He frowned in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged and forced a smile. "For what?"

"Aylee..." His voice chided, and he sounded a little hurt. "I did notice what they did..." Earnest. Compassionate. "Even..." He trailed off and looked unsure. "Even if I don't know why."

"It doesn't matter why." She shook her head and looked away from the hologram.

"I think it does."

That drew her gaze back.

"I told Master Yoda what happened on Besk. I thought..." He shrugged, not knowing how to explain. Thought the truth would make a difference, get her credit, save her face.

Her heart squeezed, and she smiled, struck to the tender core. Tears edged in her eyes again, and she wondered if he could see it. It was a kindness, delicate and unexpected. Pointless, but he didn't know that.

He drew a breath to say something more, lost his nerve, and then found it again. "Would you... be free for a rematch?" he asked, suddenly wound with tension. "Tomorrow?"

Aylee chuckled and scored her lower lip with her teeth as she nodded, searching for her voice. "Yeah. I, um... I get a lunch break between classes."

He let out a breath and relaxed into one of those small secretive smiles. Collectible smiles. "You'll let me know when and where?"

"I will."

 **OBI-WAN**

The comlink on his belt chimed a little melody as he entered the meditation room, informing him he was late for his chal'tek game. Every other day for a week, they'd found an hour or two to play somewhere in Aylee's teaching schedule. Obi-Wan shushed the reminder and bowed to Master Yoda, who sat on a round, raised cushion with his small hands in a restful mudra on his knees.

"You summoned me, Master?" Obi-Wan said, his voice hushed in the still, dim room. He settled onto one of the other cushions, content to wait for Yoda to finish his communion with the Force.

After a deep, cleansing breath, Master Yoda opened his eyes and peered at him. "Obi-Wan," he said slowly. "An assignment I have for you."

Obi-Wan cocked his head, listening.

"A request, we have received, for an audience from a Hutt."

"A Hutt?" he repeated, surprised and not a little dismayed. "Where?"

"Here..."

"On Coruscant!" Even less expected.

"Arrived for the Star Bloom festival she has."

"Already?" Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up. "But that's months away!"

Master Yoda gave him a slow nod and a calculating look. "Curious, is it not?"

He frowned and shifted his legs. "The Hutts are slavers and pirates. What would they want with us?"

The old Jedi hummed back at him and lifted an eyebrow without offering a suggestion. Obi-Wan nodded his understanding. Finding out what the Hutt wanted was the only reason the Council was agreeing to the request. A diplomatic mission, of a kind. He rocked back a little, drawing in a breath, and let it out in a sigh.

"All right... Where do I find this Hutt?"

Master Yoda graced him with a serene grin. "Shemba stays at Hotel Manarai. Easy to find, she will be," he said, and closed his eyes, settling back into a meditative pose.

The silence was as good as a dismissal.

Obi-Wan got to his feet. "I'll let you know if I find anything, Master," he said, and bowed before he left.

Back in the bright, white hallway, Obi-Wan plucked his comlink from his belt and sent a call to Anakin. Per usual, it took a few chimes before he answered.

"Yes, Master?" Anakin sounded breathless, and Obi-Wan couldn't decide if that was worrying.

"We've been given an assignment. Meet me in the east speeder bay."

He could picture Anakin perking at the news.

"Yes, Master!" He clicked off the com, and Obi-Wan's mouth twitched in amusement.

A Hutt. This far from the Outer Rim. Obi-Wan shook his head and slowed as he passed by an alcove with a window, lit with natural light, showcasing a view of the Coruscant sky. He bounced the comlink in his hand, its reminder light still flashing to tell him he was late. He hit the button for Aylee's frequency and watched a line of traffic fly silently by outside. She answered at the first chime.

"Ben."

"Hi," he said, smiling to himself at the name. "Sorry, but I'm going to have to miss our game. An assignment came up."

"Oh?"

He balanced his arm against the wall, lingered in the alcove. "A Hutt asked to speak to a Jedi." A ridiculous statement.

"A Hutt." He could hear her scowl. "Where?"

"Here!" An idea trickled at the back of his neck. "The thing is," he went on, warming to the words, "I'm going to need a translator..."

He trailed off into silence and tried to sense through the Force the quality of her reaction.

"Are you... asking me for my help?"

Her tone brought a smile to his lips, and he shrugged though she couldn't see it and gave the comlink a coy look. "Well... if you're free..."

She let out an amused huff. "As it happens, my date canceled on me. So... I guess I'm all yours."

He smiled to himself and pushed away from the window. "Excellent. Meet me at the east speeder bay?"

"On my way."

Obi-Wan arrived last.

From across the bay, he could see Aylee standing next to a vehicle listening as Anakin spoke and gestured animatedly about something. He only caught the tail end.

"...impress the Senate," Anakin was saying.

Aylee gave Obi-Wan a brief, warm glance as he joined them and then turned her attention back.

"It's gonna be galactic!" Anakin added, eyes wide with enthusiasm.

Aylee smiled down at him. "I look forward to seeing it," she said, sounding genuine. The boy beamed, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile at the both of them.

Anakin turned abruptly for the speeder. "So where are we going?" he asked, and vaulted himself over the side into the seat. "Can I drive?"

He was already _in_ the driver's seat as he asked.

"Sometimes I do wonder," Obi-Wan muttered, getting into the passenger seat, while Aylee climbed into the back.

Anakin turned around to look at Aylee. "He doesn't mean that," he said seriously. "I'm a great pilot! Did he tell you about the pod races?"

Obi-Wan felt his eyes roll on instinct.

Aylee leaned forward a little. "What's a pod race?"

Anakin's jaw dropped. He stared at Obi-Wan, who shrugged, then back to Aylee and spluttered. "Wh-How-Only the biggest, best, fastest-"

"Most dangerous," Obi-Wan cut in.

"-races in the whole galaxy!" He turned to Obi-Wan, scandalized. "How could you not tell her!"

He shrugged defensively. "It never came up!"

Anakin groused and flopped back into his seat, while Aylee's soft chuckle floated up from behind them.

After a moment of scowling, "It's great stor-"

"Anakin. Are you going to talk or are you going to fly?"

It _was_ a pretty great story. At least that part of it. Not that he'd been there to actually witness any of this greatest best most dangerous race in the galaxy. His inspection of the sand was pretty thorough, though. Great sand on Tatooine. Very brown.

Anakin flipped on the nav computer. " _Where_ are we _going_?"

"Hotel Manarai," Obi-Wan said, punching the destination in. His stomach lurched when Anakin pulled the speeder out of the bay too quickly and then stomped on the brakes too hard to wait to pull into traffic. Obi-Wan fastened the safety belt on without saying anything and hoped that Aylee had the good sense to do the same.

They did not make record time. Anakin nearly side-swiped a taxi, who he _claimed_ didn't signal into his lane. And he took the turns too sharp for a speeder with passengers, which Obi-Wan reminded him about-Every. Single. Time. They stopped with a jaw-cracking jolt and Anakin's chirped, "Sorry!"

Obi-Wan lurched to get out of the speeder only to be jerked back by the belt. He gave the clasp an irritated tug and stepped out onto the platform. Angry ice beetles scuttled around in his stomach for a moment, and he closed his eyes to gather himself. _Great pilot_ , indeed.

Aylee set a hand on his shoulder, though all he could feel through the layers of fabric was a faint pressure.

"Are you okay?" she asked, sounding amused.

He drew a deep breath and let it out, a feeling of cool stillness coming over him. His nerves settled, and he opened his eyes to see Anakin giving him a worried, apologetic look.

"Fine," he said after another breath.

She gave him a quick double-pat and then stepped back a half pace to let him take the lead. He settled his cloak and hood with practiced, calming motions and buried his hands in his sleeves. When he started for the hotel entrance, Aylee and Anakin fell in behind him at either side. The Twi'lek doorman eyed them as they passed into the hotel interior but didn't say anything. To the average citizen, three Jedi must look like an army.

The hotel clerk called up to the suite, and a few minutes later, a Cathar male in the plated armor of a security detail emerged from an elevator nearby.

"Jedi!" he motioned toward the waiting lift. "Shemba the Hutt will see you now."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow quirked at the implication that _she_ was doing _them_ a favor. Still, he gave the guard a respectful nod, and they all piled in. The suite had direct access to the elevator by way of a special key and code. The Cathar's pointed ears twitched as the elevator rushed upward on maglevs, and he eyed each of them in the reflections off the mirrored walls.

Suspicion and silence. Delightful. Obi-Wan plastered a pleasant look on his face and counted all the man's weapons to pass the time. Aylee and Anakin remained still and watchful, though she caught his eye in the mirror and he felt something briefly flicker in the Force-something like mischief.

The elevator slowed to a stop, and the guard ushered them into the large central room of a suite wrapped nearly floor-to-ceiling with windows. A strange odor drifted lightly through the room, and Obi-Wan's face twitched at it as they came to a stop. The voluminous shape of a Hutt sat outlined against the bright Coruscant sky.

"Do Jedai kyotopa," the cat-man said.

Shemba's massive body rippled, and she slunk around to face them. A silver chain glittered around her upper body, supporting the weight of a deep blue gem. She blinked large, crystalline eyes that sparkled green and gold and moved toward them, through a room that had been mostly cleared to accommodate her bulk.

Obi-Wan bent toward his padawan. "Anakin, go wait by the elevator. Be alert," he whispered.

The boy bobbed his head and took a step backward before turning and stationing himself as he was told. The guard eyed him, and he eyed him right back.

Obi-Wan inclined his head toward the Hutt and waited.

Shemba's great, leathery body lurched to a stop, wafting a strong gust of the acidic smell permeating the air. He took a step back unconsciously and then forced himself back to where he'd been.

"It's the slime," Aylee whispered. "Like a disinfectant. Keeps them clean."

Shemba ignored Aylee's interruption and eyed him, sweeping her gaze up and down. There wasn't much to see but face and cloak.

Aylee moved quietly off to the side and clasped her hands in front of her, where they could clearly be seen.

"Chowbasa Jedai," she said, in a voice surprisingly high for a creature her size.

 _"Welcome, Jedi,"_ Aylee repeated.

Shemba glanced at her and then nodded, understanding.

"Greetings from the Jedi Council, Shemba Hutt," Obi-Wan said with a bow. "I'm Master Kenobi."

 _"H'chu apenkee du granee Jedai, Shemba Hutt,"_ Aylee echoed. _"Dobra Master Kenobi."_

Shemba's great eyes settled on him and she touched the silver necklace, fondling its links. "Have you ever been to a Hutt planet?" she asked.

An interesting question. "As a matter of fact, I have."

Her eyes widened a little as the answer came through, and she leaned a little toward him. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Obi-Wan considered his answer. "It was a bit dry for my taste, but... I did find something of great value."

"Ahh!" She made a pleased sound and slapped her side happily. She slithered across the floor with a sucking, wet sound, giving Obi-Wan a sidelong glance as she brought herself closer.

"I have a gift for you," she said, and watched him through narrow slits, gauging his response.

Obi-Wan shot Aylee a look as she translated, but she shrugged. "Direct translation."

Shemba watched them for a moment and then waved at one of her servants, another Cathar standing far off to the side. He took hold of a levitating cart and dragged it into the center of the room. It bore something several feet tall and 15 or 20 feet long, all covered in a white sheet.

Obi-Wan glanced at the Hutt for an explanation.

"We were excavating for a factory on Tes Erdine," she said, "and uncovered old ruins. This bas relief was the only thing still preserved."

 _Since when did the Hutts take to archaeology?_ Obi-Wan wondered. It ticked his bullshit meter up a few notches.

Shemba indicated toward the far end of the stone block, and Obi-Wan and Aylee gathered together near it. She snapped her fingers, and the Cathar slave pulled the sheet away.

The carving was done in sections, and the first section clearly bore a old version of the Jedi sigil above two seated figures, a man and a woman in a lotus pose. They had seven stars carved through their images, top of the head, forehead, throat, all the way down to the root. Lines stretched between the two figures, connecting them at each point.

Aylee leaned in closer, inspecting the carving, perhaps the craftsmanship.

"What do these mean?" Obi-Wan asked her, pitching his voice to a whisper.

"Not sure." She shook her head.

They stepped back to move on, and when his eyes fell upon the second panel, Obi-Wan's body gripped with shock. Aylee let out a small, startled laugh, and it made him aware of her presence like a bonfire.

A man, naked, fully aroused, knelt behind a woman, her breasts detailed in the crude stone, inserting a lightsaber hilt into her-

Obi-Wan turned a spectacular shade of scarlet, and Shemba burbled into a laugh. He could feel his cheeks burning without his permission and pulse racing. In outrage. Embarrassment! Aylee slipped back to her neutral distance, while he forced himself to inspect the rest of the relief. It gave him time to get his emotions in check. Whatever he had expected from this visit, pornography hadn't been part of it.

Shemba tilted her head. Interest glittered in the gold of her eyes. When he faced her again not feeling quite so shamed, she spoke.

Aylee barked a laugh like a startled bird.

Obi-Wan turned to look at her. She had a hand pressed over her mouth, and her body shook with a few aborted laughs she couldn't contain. She straightened and cleared her throat, her mouth working against a smile. Her eyes watered from the strain of it.

"She would like to know," she said as calmly as she could, slipping something sultry into her tone, "if she could see your lightsaber." She lifted an eyebrow at him and smiled suggestively.

Heat flashed across his face a second time. Shemba's roar of laughter at his discomfort fanned hot coals in his chest. The mortification scorched. But he faced her anyway and waited for a break in her pleasure at his embarrassment. She touched the chain around her neck, playing with it, body still jostling with her laughter.

Well. Two could play. Obi-Wan steeled himself. "Madame," he said, very seriously. "A Jedi doesn't wield his lightsaber unless he intends to use it."

A moment of translation.

And the Hutt exploded with glee. She roared out a laugh and surged forward, slapping him on the arm hard enough to make him stumble. He caught himself and smirked. Shemba slithered around him, the wet sound of her movement like ice on his neck.

"Will you be at the Star Bloom festival, Master Kenobi?" she said as she passed around behind him. "I hope to see you."

"As a matter of fact, I will this year."

Her great gold-green eyes flashed, and she smiled. "I'll have a good view. You are welcome to join."

He wondered how much to reveal. What she was fishing for. "Actually, I'll be in the parade. I'm afraid I won't have time for social calls."

Shemba made a pleased rumbling noise and leaned down. "Then I look forward to seeing you in _action_ ," she said, smirking at him.

Somehow he walked into that one, and she moved off toward the window with a heave and a squelch.

"Shemba," Obi-Wan called after her. She twisted to look back. "Don't start any trouble. We _will_ be watching you."

She gave him a look both sly and pleased and turned away. She snapped her fingers at the Cathar slave and delivered some orders.

Aylee slid up to Obi-Wan's side. "She's having him take the artifact down to the speeder."

Obi-Wan nodded.

They were, apparently, dismissed.

The elevator doors slid closed, and Obi-Wan let out a sigh.

"I can't believe I was hit on by a Hutt. Is that even what you call a request so show your parts?"

Aylee laughed with a warm, calming chuckle. "It is from a Hutt. She was being subtle." She smiled and leaned toward him conspiratorially. "I think she was trying to impress you."

"Oh, good."

Aylee rocked back on her heels, and Obi-Wan avoided looking at the amusement written all over her features. Not even trying to hide it for his sake.

"I can't figure what this was all about," he said soberly. "What does she want?"

"You mean other than you?"

He cut her a look. "How can- I'm _human_."

Aylee shrugged, smirking at the mirror. "They like pretty things. Just imagine," she said, voice dropping to a honey husk. "All that leathery... slimey..."

Obi-Wan turned the deadpan expression of disapproval that he'd sharpened for years on Anakin her way.

She stopped speaking.

She didn't stop grinning.

Anakin broke the silence. "Master," he whispered loudly. "What's she talking about?"

"Nothing."

"But-"

"No-thing," he insisted.

Aylee made a sound; Obi-Wan shot her a look.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, it's _very_ funny." She shook silently and bit on her lip until they reached the lobby and the elevator released them. "The real question is why she asked you here at all."

Obi-Wan turned in the passenger seat and reached for Anakin. "Sit down."

"But I'm just-"

"I _know_ what you're just. Sit. Down!"

Anakin slipped just out of his grasp and stretched over the back of the speeder, peering at the trailer attached to it and the relief carving held suspended under force fields.

Aylee took the speeder up onto the middle speedway.

Obi-Wan dropped back into his seat, bristling with annoyance.

"Why don't you just let him?" she asked.

Aghast, he turned to stare at her. "He's twelve!"

"Exactly!" She shifted them through traffic like dealing cards. "What were you doing when you were twelve?"

Obi-Wan drew a breath to answer and the truth almost slipped out. "Meditating," he said with an imperious tone.

Aylee took her eyes off the speedway to give him a look that said _just how_ _much_ she believed that.

He deflated into a scowl and crossed his arms over his chest. "Aren't we supposed to make them better than we were? Isn't that the point?"

He expected a quick reply, but instead got silence. The only sounds were the hum of the speeder engine and the whip of wind around the cockpit. After a minute, curiosity got the better of his foul mood, and he glanced over. Aylee's jaw twitched, and she brought them up a ramp to the upper speedway with total concentration-which she hardly needed.

The sense of...verve in the Force that Obi-Wan had begun to associate with her presence evaporated. Somehow, he had the feeling he'd hit a nerve, and he didn't know what to make of it. Part of him had hoped for some off-handed wisdom.

They took a sharp turn, and he reached back to grab Anakin's high-flung foot without looking, keeping him from tumbling overboard before letting go. He let him be, instead intent on Aylee's expression and the ponderous touch of the melancholy of walking into a shaded glen. That was his fault, but he couldn't fathom a remedy.

Coruscant traffic whipped by in streaks of red and white light, and the Temple shuffled into view between spindling expanses of metal and glass spacescrapers. Aylee roused herself from her thoughts and gestured at him. "You should call Jocasta. Let her know we'll be arriving soon."

"Jocasta!" Obi-Wan called, too happily. They met her and her attendants halfway across the speeder bay, having left their transport as far from the door as possible.

The Archvist gave him a curious look bordering on suspicion. "Master Kenobi," she said, with a regal smile and nod.

"We, uh... have a donation to the Archive museum," he told her, plastering on his most winning smile. It might have been a tad much, but her eyes widened in elation.

"Really?" She looked at Aylee in her archivist's tabard and lifted her eyebrows.

"Tes Erdine relief sculpture. Ductavis era, I believe, but it's not my strong point."

Jocasta gave her attendants a hungry, eager look. "Well, I can hardly wait."

Before she could move, "Be sure you scan it for... well... everything, " Obi-Wan said. "Listening devices, trackers, poisons-"

"Poisons?" She drew back with a look of shock.

"Just... to be safe."

She narrowed her eyes and plucked at her robes to get them straight. "I assure you, I know how to do my job."

Obi-Wan gave her a slight bow and lowered his eyes, fighting the urge to smile, and Jocasta and her team slipped around them in the direction of the speeder. Obi-Wan gave them a glance, then urged Aylee and Anakin forward with a hand on their backs.

"Hurry," he muttered quickly under his breath, "before she sees it."

They strode, then jogged for the door, light with guilty giggles. The panels swished open, and just as they passed into the interior, Jocasta's appalled voice rang through the speeder bay.

"Master Ke _no_ bi!"

Anakin's show of arms plans had taken real form in the last couple of weeks. He'd revealed his idea for a grand finale, and Obi-Wan sat in the mess hall, eating absently, as he thought over it. A duel with a giant battle droid-a cage match in front of the Senate's box seats, so they could witness first hand what a master looked like at work. Anakin had already started on schematics-a task far more pleasing to him than Correllian literature, or meditation. Of any kind.

Obi-Wan's thoughts drifted on the bubbling chatter in the hall. And he ate, his gaze going soft and out of focus with nothing in particular to mind.

A shadow swept across the table, and Aylee dropped onto the bench opposite him with a clatter of tray and utensils.

"Ugh! How does everyone stand it?"

He stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, and lifted his eyebrows at her.

"This!" She poked at the brown square of presumably meat on her tray. "It's all so... bland. I forgot. You know, I've been on Ossus so long..."

Obi-Wan glanced at the mouthful he'd been about to eat and lowered it slowly. Aylee was shaking her head at her tray in dismay and looked at him.

"They take great pride in their complicated preparations. The _flavors_. A single dish might take flowers from the Herveen lowlands and bark from a tree that only grows on Mount Qash. Do you know how far away Mount Qash is? How high you have to go to get bark the right thickness? The frost line is-" She cut herself off and waved the thought away. "They scrape the soft inside and grind it to a powder. Before speeders and starships, it would take weeks to get those ingredients in the same place. Weeks! But they did it! Because it was important. Because they found it important." She tapped her finger on the table. "Now they import spices from all over the Republic. Biggest single industry. I have no idea how they pay for it. What they export. No one _comes_ to Ossus." She frowned, thinking about it and glanced off to the side for a moment before checking the food on her tray and snapping back. "The point is. It's..." She stopped, poking at some purple vegetables with her fork and not looking at him, searching for the right words. "Central, for them. Cooking. Food. _Taste._ " She met his eyes and gave up on the fork. _"_ It's part of community and family. Not... just this, this _chore._ This calculation of proper energy ingestion. I mean, of course it's a chore, they do it every day. But it isn't a... a..." She gestured with her hands again, grasping and coming up empty.

"Weight?" Obi-Wan offered, watching her face light with animation in response.

"Yes! Yes. I-" She stopped suddenly, her eyes going to the utensil dangling from Obi-Wan's hand.

"I-uh." She faltered, and he could not follow the calculus behind her eyes, only that she sat back and tried to still herself. "Sorry... you were..." She motioned at him and trained her focus on the table.

Obi-Wan set his fork down very deliberately and interlaced his fingers. "You were saying?"

Aylee hesitated and then leaned toward him. Tentatively, "Well, I was... I mean..." She smiled cautiously at him and picked up her fork to stab at her vegetables with a methodical slowness. "It's an expression of their creativity," she said. "It's how they show their love. Or how they feel. How they want their families to feel. They craft it through taste like others do through song. It can warm your insides, cozy and sated. Give you fire. Melt with bittersweetness. Evoke memory." She finally lifted her gaze to his and smiled. "One of life's great pleasures."

He glanced down at the meal he'd nearly half eaten and couldn't remember.

"And it's a kind of meditation," Aylee went on, drawing his attention back. "Anything can be a meditation if you do it with a clear mind and focus. And they do. Technique and small details. Not because it tastes better necessarily, but because you have to be there. Making something. Attending to it. So it doesn't burn or separate, or get the wrong texture. It demands that you stay in the present. Your time... _into_ sustenance." She moved her hands as though funneling one into the other and looked at him.

He thought he understood. At least theoretically. Though he hadn't eaten something with the bark from Mount Qash and a lowland flower. He gave the cooling food on his tray a poke with his fork and tried to muster up the desire to eat it.

Aylee's voice came to him soft with apology. "I didn't mean to ruin your lunch," she said.

He looked up with a shrug. "Wasn't really much to start with, was it?"

She grinned and looked thoughtful for a second, then leaned closer with a glint in her eye. "You wouldn't"-she lifted a shoulder in a coy shrug-"happen to know where there's a market, would you?"

An answering smile broke across his face, a rising sun of an expression he tried to hide under impishness. Obi-Wan slid from his seat.

"I might."

An air taxi dropped them in the Hirkenglade, a few levels below direct sunlight. Obi-Wan knew CoCoTown better, but when Aylee said "market," he didn't think she had a 30-story haute larder in mind. The glade hadn't risen quite so far, yet. It was further from the spaceport, saw fewer daily travelers and government officials, and spent less money and energy trying to impress. Antiro Bazaar made a name for itself through genuine utility, not slick advertising.

Obi-Wan led the way down the shaded sidewalk, around a small garden that marked Antiro's official entrance, and into the transparisteel-covered plaza. Aylee came to a stop beside him and watched the writhing hive of shoppers for a moment.

"Well?" he asked her.

She gave him a slow smile of simmering joy, "Exactly," and started in, reaching back to grab at his arm or hand, missing, and not stopping to be sure he caught up.

"Ay-!" Someone knocked him from behind, jostling for a place by the stall."Hey! Watch-" The alien said something not in Basic and turned away. Obi-Wan scowled, buffeted again by passing shoppers and worked his way into the flow of traffic. He caught sight of Aylee's hair between shuffling shoulders and pressed to follow.

The air in the bazaar was thick with people and chatter and goods. The shade from the surrounding towers kept the temperature bearable despite the crowd.

Obi-Wan popped out of the inexorable flow of traffic with a lunge and ended up at Aylee's side in a pocket of calm.

She shoved a bundle of green sprigs in his face. "Smell."

Startled, he inhaled and took them from her. "It smells, uh, earthy. And... green."

"Silbe," she said. "Astringent. And it gives a good bite."

He nodded like that meant something. She was checking the rest of the wares, feeling a few leaves, leaning in to smell something else. She turned suddenly and slipped away from the stall, leaving him there.

"Aylee! W-" Obi-Wan glanced at the leaves in his hand, then at the shopkeeper watching him. He handed the bundle and his credit chit over with a shrug and added the silbe to the bag he was already carrying.

He lost sight of her again but joined the crowd anyway, letting the instinct of the Force guide him. He wove with a lithe sort of grace around the bodies in his path, finding the cracks of emptiness to slip into without disturbance.

He found her at a fruit stall, squeezing a red-skinned ovoid. She pressed her fingers around the middle of one and then checked it at either end.

"What is that?" Obi-Wan asked, brushing at her elbow. If his presence surprised her at all, she didn't show it.

"Rinbilly fruit," she said, glancing at him. "The flesh inside is green. And you can tell they're ripe..." She picked a different one and squeezed its middle. "If your fingers leave and impression around the center. But"-she worked her thumb up the side pressing every few inches-"they're still hard at the edges."

He'd never even heard of rinbilly fruit. "I see."

"Pick one," she said, casting him a smile. She stepped back to give him room and glanced down the lane.

As Obi-Wan reached for one of the fruits, Aylee audibly gasped. He stopped with his hand lightly gripping a rinbilly and looked at her, and she was already three steps away.

 _No. Not agai-_ "Wait! Don't just..."

Too late. He leaned, trying to see where she was going. It looked only a few stalls away.

Obi-Wan brought his attention back to the task at hand. He squeezed the rinbilly fruit and checked for impressions, then poked at it, feeling like an idiot while the shopkeeper stared at him. He tested another one, which didn't seem that much different from the first, and succumbed to the owner's look. At least that's what he imagined judgment looked like on a Rhodian.

He took two as a precaution.

Aylee turned to him when he caught up, holding aloft a pink orb the size of cupped palms. Her smiled glowed, hitting him in the chest.

"Do you know what this is?"

"No?" He took it carefully from her. Pebbled, waxy skin.

"Ossian sun fruit," she told him. "They're-" She turned to the owner, a thick-maned Cathar. "How much?"

"Ten each," he said.

Obi-Wan jolted. "Ten each!" One cost more than what they'd spent so far.

Aylee plucked the fruit from Obi-Wan's hand and passed it over. "I'll take six."

He stared at her while she handed her chit over. "Are you... sure..."

"That it's worth it?" The shopkeeper held out a bag and her credit chit. Aylee's eyes gleamed, and Obi-Wan held open the bag he carried. "So... very... worth it." She met his questioning gaze, and a small frisson of joy ignited a smile in him. For ten credits each, he couldn't wait to find out why.

This time when they ventured into the throng, Aylee pointed in the direction of an old-fashioned light-tube sign that read simply: Spice Shop. The structure stood in the center of the bazaar, a far more permanent installation than the other vendors seemed to have. They cut across the flow of traffic, dodging between bodies, and slipped into the shop together, emerging into the noise-dampened chamber like they entered another world.

The air inside was dry. The other shoppers far less harried than those outside. Everywhere, transparent cases of substances in vibrant colors, set on wooden shelves. No one used wooden shelves. The Twi'lek tending the store beckoned them inside, and Aylee took Obi-Wan by the wrist to pull him along.

She let go long enough to spin, taking it all in with an expression of wonder that ended in biting on her lower lip.

"What are we here for?" Obi-Wan asked her quietly, reading some of the labels on nearby containers.

She shrugged, grinning, and started around the room, keeping him in tow. Some containers were large. Some small. She held the aromatic ones up to him to inhale. He did, dutifully, just to watch her launch into an explanation of that particular spice's origin and common use. Who knew if he'd ever need the information, but he soaked it in anyway and smiled, and didn't mind too much when she shoved some putrid smelling box in his face just to see his reaction.

They left the spice shop, twelve bottles heavier and two-hundred credits lighter.

Obi-Wan cringed and shifted the increasingly heavy bag to his other hand. "Where to now?"

Aylee craned up onto her toes. "Is there an aquameat dealer?"

It only struck him then that she couldn't see half the bazaar until she was right on top of it, just towering bodies. He went up onto his toes as well and threw a little Force behind his vision as he squinted at the flashing, moving signs.

"Well... I see a fish?"

He pointed; and they went.

The aquameat vendor was a Herglic man with jet black skin, save for white marks by each eye and a patch down his chin. He ducked to keep his head from hitting the canopy. Aylee leaned over the glass-covered case for a few minutes in thought.

Then, "The hennok," she said, pointing.

The Herglic pulled a large slab of beige-white meat out of the case and laid it on sheet of film. He passed it to Aylee's waiting hands. She sniffed at it-a common practice Obi-Wan was finding-and then held it out for him to do the same.

"Smells like salt... and... rust," he said.

"Yeah." She nodded and lowered her voice. "The rust? The rust is bad. Don't eat ones that smell like rust." Then she turned back to the shopkeeper and offered the meat back. "Can I see the other one?"

He obliged, and this time when she inhaled, she grinned a little. "Hennok cooks up soft and flaky if you do it right. It just... mmm... _melts_. Of course, you do it wrong and it's a chewy brick." She shrugged and held up the second steak. "Try this one."

"Salt and..." He took a long, deep breath. "Flowers?"

She bobbed her head happily. "We'll take it," she said, handing it back to the owner.

Obi-Wan's arm ached, and he switched the bag again. Aylee eyed him as she took the hennok package.

"You know, you could have said."

His eyebrows lifted. "Said what?"

She gave the bag a pointed look.

"This? It's fine," he said. She reached, and he turned away, out of her grasp. "I said it's fine." He grinned. "Now... where are we going next?"

"Next?" She laughed a little and leaned in, conspiratorial. "Next we find a kitchen."

"This is _highly_ irregular. Highly irregular! Master Desai, I-I don't... Highly ir _reg_ ular!" Uulin, the Temple's master chef wrung her hands, flat Rhodian mouth wibbling.

"I know," Aylee conceded, holding her hands in a concilliatory gesture that verged on a beg. "But it's just one cooktop. A small section of the kitchen." She glanced around the large, immaculate space taking its rest break between meals.

Uulin blinked at Obi-Wan. "Highly _irregular_!"

He offered a sympathetic smile. "It is a _lot_ to ask, I know." The bag of goods cut into his hand, and he switched the weight again.

Something flashed in Aylee's eyes as she followed the movement. "Why don't you..." She gestured at one of the metal countertops and crowded over as he set the sack down. After a second of rummaging, she pulled out one of the glass jars from the spice shop and set it on the counter where Uulin could clearly see. The Rhodian leaned a little closer to read the small print on the label, and Aylee set out another jar. And a third.

"Is that...?" Uulin's hand drifted toward one of the jars and then hung in midair, as though her very proximity might cause it to vanish.

Aylee cast Obi-Wan a sly wink, and he stepped back a little to let her work.

"You know, I bought a whole lot more than I can use," Aylee said, watching the master chef's expression as she set out more jars.

Uulin glanced up and blinked.

"I could... leave them with you? When I'm done?"

Uulin touched one of the jars, the yutt root, the most expensive. Her mouth dropped open into a small, perfect O. "Do you know what I could _do_ with this?"

Aylee leaned toward her and whispered, "I have a pretty good idea. Maybe... a little in tomorrow's food?"

Uulin snapped her a look. "What? No! I could- I mean I would share with..." She drew herself up with a calming breath and looked down the length of the kitchen. "One cooker?"

Aylee smiled. "Just the one."

The master chef made a sound. "All right." She rubbed her fingers against one another, agitated. "But this is-"

"Highly irregular," Obi-Wan said smoothly. "We appreciate the favor."

Uulin nodded once at him, then a little more vigorously as she eyed the spice jars. Her fingers flicked against one another a little more, and then she pointed at a nearby corner. "Use that one. Clean up when you're done."

"Thank you," Aylee told her.

She made another distressed sound and hurried out of the kitchen, presumably before they asked for something _outrageously_ irregular.

Aylee turned with a mischievious grin and shooed Obi-Wan out of the way. She started unpacking everything they'd bought, and Obi-Wan leaned his hip against the countertop in what he hoped was an unobtrusive place to watch. She set everything out in orderly rows and slipped out of her cloak, folding it and placing it on a shelf beneath the counter. Obi-Wan watched her hunting for implements with a distinct feeling of uselessness.

"Should I be helping?" he asked.

She set down a cutting board and knife, and gave him a quick glance. "Do you know how to cook?"

"Well... no."

She smiled down at the board, and a second later a pink sun fruit arced through the air in his direction. "Peel and eat."

He caught the palm-sized globe and turned it over in his hands.

"They taste like... gold and sunshine when they're raw," Aylee said as she started cutting. "And like chocolate when they're cooked."

Obi-Wan pressed his blunt nails into the skin of the fruit. They scraped the waxy surface, and he tried again with a little more strength.

Aylee's voice floated to him in a loud whisper. "Use the Force."

He looked up at her, smirked down at her work, and made a face. "That seems excessive," he muttered, but he did it anyway. With a quick circular flick, he spiraled off some of the skin, enough that he could use his fingers the rest of the way. He tore off a section of the flesh, sniffed at it, and tentatively put the whole thing in his mouth.

Gold and sunshine could not begin to describe. The thin film of the exterior burst into sweet stickiness. The juice ran lush on his tongue, felt like stars. He made an indecent sound, embarrassing if he cared-except he didn't. The pleasure lingered even after the juice was gone, and he met Aylee's amused expression with a dumb small smile of his own.

She didn't say anything. Just kept chopping, slicing, setting things into small piles. She split the rinbilly in half, revealing vibrant green flesh, and carved some into bite-size pieces.

Obi-Wan popped another piece of sun fruit into his mouth, savoring it. "You learned this on Ossus?" he asked between pieces.

Aylee sliced the hennok into two portions and shrugged. "Between catalogueing ancient texts and learning to speak dead languages."

He gave her a bemused look. "Why would learn a dead language?"

"Because," she set her knife down and wiped her hands on a towel. "It's what the holocrons speak. Have to know their native language to learn what's inside."

Holocrons! He'd never used a holocron before... Only the Council was allowed into the Archive's holocron chamber.

Aylee straightened and looked around the kitchen, peering in all directions. Obi-Wan straightened, too, are her sudden shift, curious and alert.

"Cover me," she said.

"What?"

But she hurried past him and darted into the pantry with only the swish of the door to mark her passing.

Well.

He leaned his hip back against the counter and ate another piece of fruit, looking, he thought, utterly unsuspicious.

Until Uulin hustled by the doorway. And then hustled right back, twining her fingers together as she poked into the room. She gave Obi-Wan a look, then at the place Aylee should have been, and back to Obi-Wan.

He swallowed the bit of fruit. "Washroom," he offered.

Across the room, he sensed the pantry door start to open and tensed the fingers of his free hand, gripping the panel with the Force. He held it shut against the maglev pull and pointedly didn't look in that direction.

Uulin wandered to the counter and inspected Aylee's work. "This... looks like it will be wonderful!" She sounded a little surprised.

Obi-Wan gave her a tight smile. "I'm hoping so. I'm quite curious."

She nodded at him, then nodded again at some unspoken thought of her own. She headed back out but stopped abruptly in the doorway and spun to look at him. "Remember to wash the dishes!" she said urgently.

He nodded, most solemn and grave. "You have my word."

That seemed to be enough, and she left.

Obi-Wan let his hold on the door go and flexed his aching fingers. Aylee slunk out of the pantry, biting her lip, and set her stolen carton of white cream down.

"I'm part of your conspiracy now," Obi-Wan told her. "I hope you're happy."

She shot him a smug, delighted look and turned away to start the cooktop. He moved closer and off to the side so he wouldn't have to talk to the back of her head.

"There were no staff on Ossus?"

Aylee huffed. "There almost weren't any Jedi. Just a handful of us. Too few to really make a community." She put a pan on the heat, added an oil to it, and waited patiently. "So... we... lived with the planet's population." A shrug. "Blended in. My neighbors took pity on me when they kept smelling burning." She smiled ruefully and started adding ingredients to the pan, letting them sizzle. "It's very different from Coruscant. In... maybe every way."

And yet, she didn't want to go back. Neither of them did. Obi-Wan watched her in silence, eating the sun fruit absentmindedly and leaving chunks of peel on the counter that he'd have to clean up. Aylee added the cream she'd "borrowed" to the pan and an assortment of the spices. She turned on the oven and placed spice-encrusted hennok pieces onto two metal dishes. Those went into the heat, and she stirred the contents of the pan with an unhurried rhythm while it bubbled.

Easy silence flowed between them. Just here and now and this. Tantalizing aromas filling the air. The simple pleasure of something sweet. Obi-Wan felt himself relax tensions he hadn't known he'd been holding. He smiled in a small way and finished the last piece of sun fruit, licking the sticky juice from his fingers.

Aylee glanced at him. "Good?"

He hummed. "I might even have paid a credit more."

She laughed while he went to wash off his hands and gather the peels for proper disposal.

By some unknown metric, Aylee deemed the hennok in the oven done. She opened the door and moved her hands through the air with that peculiar circular motion. The metal plates floated from the oven and down onto the countertop, their contents sizzling in their own fat. Obi-Wan retrieved two plates as ordered, and Aylee transferred the hennok with a spatula, then poured the contents of the pan over top.

Steam lifted from everything, and the aroma made his mouth water. Obi-Wan leaned against the other side of the counter, hands flat and splayed on the metal. A ridiculous knot of anticipation had formed somewhere along the way.

Aylee pushed a plate in his direction and set down a fork.

He had, in all honesty, no clue what to expect. He'd never had hennok to his knowledge. Or silbe. Or rinbilly fruit. Or possibly _anything_ they'd gotten from the bazaar. But. Courage. He was fairly, almost entirely certain that he couldn't pretend to like something even if he didn't. Stoic face and stalwart constitution.

The hennok flaked into bite-size section at the touch of the fork. He gathered a bit of the sauce with the fruit and tried not to feel the heat of Aylee's gaze as she watched.

He took a bite.

A rich, succulent, creamy, spicy, burst of sweet bite. A sigh of pleasure. A spike of joy. He swallowed, and it warmed his belly.

"Is _this_ what you're used to?" he asked. This... _art_.

She shrugged lightly and smiled, glanced down at her own plate as her cheeks turned a little red.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Clearly, I need to go to Ossus."

Aylee laughed and faced him, red cheeks or no. "It does have a lot to teach."


	7. Western Garden

**AYLEE**

The headache returned.

Two hours grading at her desk under the spotlight glow of a single overhead light in the otherwise dark classroom-she supposed she deserved a headache. Aylee set her datapad down and rubbed at her temples. Every single hair pulled tight into a bun ached individually. She let her eyes fall shut and pulled some of the pins out. The bun slid apart, and she sighed with the release of tension, but the headache continued gathering itself for a full assault.

It was a strange sort of pain. Nebulous. Not quite behind her eyes. Not a base of the skull tension. It felt like jak-jaks buzzing around a hive, agitated and pointy. Visualizations earlier in the day had calmed it some, let her get through class. Maybe with another cup of caf she could focus enough to try it again...

She rubbed two fingers around each temple slowly and breathed through the prickly pain.

Or maybe... two hours of grading essays was enough for one night.

Aylee drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She opened her eyes, wincing a little at the light, and gave the empty space around her contemplative look. It was a good thing the Council needed teachers; a dearth of able Jedi and a swell of new students had forced the reallocation of resources that brought her here. That, for the time being, hadn't changed. Though she did wonder what conversations went on behind closed doors.

Pointless conjecture. She shook herself, conscious of the wandering worrying thoughts and stood. A walking meditation, she decided. The perfect balm. She tucked the datapad into the top drawer of her desk and set the lock. Then turned with deliberate slowness for the door.

A walking meditation is simple in concept. Focus on the moving foot. Pay attention to the heel as it lowers to the ground. To the sole as it comes in contact with the floor. Your weight as it distributes across the bones. Feel the ground, the articulation. Next step, other foot. Placed slowly, rolling and heavy, all awareness on the body. From the feet, up the legs, hips, back, and shoulders-with each step searching for places of tension or pain.

Aylee scanned her body as her master had taught, soles to crown, over and over. She moved through the night-dimmed hallways unhurried, her unfocused gaze trained on the floor a few feet ahead. The headache faded. She found a new ache in one leg, a pinch of tension in her left shoulder. The few passersby got a quick look followed by a reminder to herself to come back and feel her foot against the inside of her boot.

She lost track of time. The flow of the Force brushed against her senses as she forgot to worry about the Council or getting the essays done or the latest research proposal sure to rewrite history. There was only the sense of motion; the Force living and being, pushing at her back, swirling at her sides. So much _life_.

A deep breath full to the belly.

 _Flowers._

Aylee blinked and lifted her gaze to see the entrance to the western gardens at her side. Beyond the clear glass, the promise of verdant flora and the coming sunset. Longing tugged at her breastbone, and she followed it out onto the main garden path. Far in the distance, the ever-present traffic whisked through the air, soundless as birds. The sky yawned above, Coruscant's moons just visible as pale discs.

She wandered further in, stepping lightly through the entrance labyrinth, almost dancing along its winding lines as a faint breeze toyed with her cloak. Aylee moved into the hedges, each heavy with blooming flowers of a different kind. A journey of scents, cloying, then light. Sweet, repulsive. Whoever kept these gardens had a bit of the old ways in them, she thought, as each one evoked a feeling different from the one before. She touched petals and vines, moving closer to the outer wall and the long drop to the city beyond.

She was not, she discovered, alone.

Aylee stopped when she saw him, gripping the edge of the wall with white knuckles, tension in the set of his shoulders.

 _Ben..._

He hadn't yet noticed her presence. She could leave... theoretically. He heaved a breath and bowed his head and kicked at the wall lightly.

She couldn't look away. He was an artist's rendering-"Beauty in Frustration, no. 9 'Weight of the World.'" She didn't think he knew how many games she'd lost to the mark below his eye, the shape of his mouth, the sound of his voice. Or that she gathered those small, secretive smiles like talismans. He never noticed heads turning to watch him for more than the symbol of the cloak. Oh, how the galaxy might tremble if a different heart had such knowledge.

A passion agitated in him now, a struggle of emotion echoed by all life's scrabbling against darkness and death. Here, amidst a garden, he'd surrounded himself with fertile energy and yet tried, by the huffing and white knuckles, to be the stoic Jedi he was supposed to be.

Aylee frowned, decision made before she realized she was making one. She edged forward, keeping her mental shields down to advertise herself. She kept the sanctity of silence as she moved beyond the last hedge row and watched him. His shoulders relaxed as he stared out into the city at dusk, awash in orange light, and she slipped onto a nearby bench facing back the way she had come.

She let her hands fall into her lap, her eyes naturally close, and thought back on her day. The youngest had the earliest classes, and she pictured their expressive faces and eager eyes. Histories for the younglings were more like story time. She told them tales of fantastic worlds and the galaxy long ago, or had them read in turn to improve their skills. Nivilicanthy sounded out a new word, and his face burst into a smile at getting it right.

Aylee held the image of that moment in her mind, letting the feeling of pride suffuse her body and her heart warm with joy.

She heard Ben let out a long sigh, followed by the sounds of footsteps and rustling. His presence settled beside her on the bench, humming and glowing. She opened her eyes and gazed at the sea of green. Trestles stood robed with twining flora. White blooms picked out the fading light of the sun, looking iridescent gold against the darkening leaves.

Above them, somewhere, Aylee felt a razorbeak flapping and circling lazily. The thread of its small life felt strong, and she glanced up trying to see it. She sent a pulse through the Force in its direction, an invitation and measure of kindness.

The bird dropped to the ground suddenly in front of them, and Ben jerked in startlement as it flapped its wings to tuck them in proper. Aylee pretended not to notice, hiding her smile, and dug into a pouch on her belt for some food. She found a cookie Uulin had slipped her at breakfast and leaned forward, offering a morsel on an open palm. The razorbeak opened its wings in a wide display and hopped forward, blinking and tilting its head. It hopped again, just close enough, and snatched the crumb before lifting off again with a great flap. It's black body disappeared almost immediately into the reddening sky.

She took a breath, drawing in more of the fresh air, unfiltered and scented with earth and green, and got up to touch some of the life she could feel tickling across her sense of the Force. She slid a fern frond around her fingers, its small, soft leaves springing back into place. She touched the waxy, flat surface of a vine leaf, the soft velvet of an orchid bloom. Each a small shiver of delicate life, each radiating the Living Force upward and outward. Her thoughts flowed in a simple, single line, a relief from the usual chaos.

Aylee turned toward the edge of the garden and paced to the wall. She leaned against it and watched the sky as the blood of the sun spilled out in glorious shades, golden clouds hung in a purple gem sea. She heard Ben moving on the bench and felt his gentle attention as she watched the colors shift and fade. Coruscant was warmer than she remembered. So many hard surfaces, it was easy to recall it as cold, like the chill of space. Hadn't it been cold? All she felt now was warmth against her back. The sun dropped behind spacescrapers in another district, sending a flare of light through their glass facades as a farewell.

And then it was night.

Aylee turned and met his gaze with a small shock of energy spreading across her skin. The first acknowledgment of one another's presence. A warm breeze traveled up her arms, touched her cheeks. She buried her hands into her sleeves and bowed to him.

A strange expression crossed his face as he returned the gesture-one she could not read.

And still, the sanctity of silence.

Aylee hadn't felt the persistent headache for some time and took it as a sign that a trip to the gardens was what she needed. She aligned her feet on the main path back inside and moved quietly across the paving stones. She could see him turning, watching, something not quite settled in him yet.

"I don't know how to deal with him sometimes," Ben said, breaking the silence with hushed tones.

Aylee stopped by the hedge and turned. She hadn't been sure he would say anything. But people often do when given a silence. "Anakin?"

He nodded, his hands curling into loose fists in his lap. "Do you know what he did?"

She shook her had and came to sit next to him again, the city black and brilliant stars beyond the wall.

He made a disgusted, annoyed sound, shaking his head at the ground. "He _disassembled_ nearly all the astromech droids! _And_ some of the maintenance ones! Without asking!" Tension wound around him again, and Aylee watched his shoulders hitching higher, wanting to press them back down.

"Why?" she asked instead.

He jerked his head up to look at her. "That isn't the point!"

"I _know_ "-she touched his arm-"but why?"

Ben's body sagged in defeat, and he shrugged, casting a hopeless, lost look skyward. "He won't tell me."

"It's a secret?"

"A _surprise_." A sour twist to his lips.

Aylee went quiet for a moment, studying his face while he played with his hands.

He turned with a look of hurt cut deep in his features, and his voice came out strained."Why is he hiding something from me? If he just _told_ me, I could have gotten him what he needed." Pleading swam in his eyes, begging to be soothed away.

Aylee dropped her gaze to her lap and thought back on the conversations they'd had between chal'tek moves. Ben's presence pulsed in her awareness, an ache now more than anger, a wound. "You said he was a slave before you took him in?"

He nodded.

"Slaves... learn to express their freedom in secret. If they're not allowed to write, they write where no one can find it. If they're not allowed to sing, they sing where they can't be heard. The things they're not allowed to do are the most important ones, the prime rebellions. It's how they reject their enslavement, even just in the confines of their own minds."

She glanced at him, watched him turn the thought over. He frowned, scowled, and shook his head as he looked at her, more torn than before."But I'm not a slaver!" So earnest, even a little offended.

"No..." Aylee touched his arm again. "But you _are_ an authority. And it's just a different set of rules."

He crumpled under the idea, propped his elbows on his knees and held his face in his hands, covering his mouth. His eyes traced speeders lancing through the sky, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. But he didn't argue.

Aylee watched him, wishing she had something better to say, something not quite so close to her own brand of defiance. Something that didn't leave him morose. After a few moments, she leaned closer and faked a whisper. "I'm sure we didn't need the droids anyway."

He huffed a laugh and sat up slowly, smirking. "Tell the Council that."

Aylee grinned and got up. Leave on a high note, as they say.

Ben turned, watchful and curious. "How'd you know I was here?"

She blinked at him. "I didn't. Classes are done. I was heading back."

He nodded, his expression sinking into a frown.

"What?"

"Aylee..." He spoke cautiously, a bit unsure. "The classrooms and dorms are on the other side of the building. There's no way you'd pass by here."

She took a breath to answer and stumbled to a halt. He was right. She tried to remember leaving the classroom. Or making a decision to turn the wrong way-to turn _any_ way. It was all a blank. Just one smooth-shelled pocket of undifferentiated time. "I... I guess I just followed my feet. I wasn't really thinking."

He looked more concerned than she felt, but nodded anyway and kept himself from saying more.

The urge to brush her fingers across his forehead struck hard. _Don't worry. You don't have to worry._ But instead she smiled and turned on her heel to go back inside, her head clear of jak-jaks and soul light as the breeze.


	8. Night Chambers

**AYLEE**

 _Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump._

Aylee's heart raced and she turned, turned, turned, in a white room. A place she'd never seen.

 _Thumpthump._ A gasp for breath.

Something... terrible. She felt it in her bones, the slipping balance on a cliffsedge before disaster. That moment of freefall before catching yourself. Her whole body pulsed with the loud drum of her heart.

Fear. Anguish.

She looked up, and white cylinder walls rose beyond seeing. Impossibly high. The catwalk beneath her feet seemed suddenly far too narrow. But she looked down. Had to look down. And the pit stared back at her, bottomless.

Claws of panic pierced her scalp, and she wailed with the sudden need to run. She turned to bolt and pink forcefields closed in her path. A series of them, like gills, breathing into the tunnel, the too white room.

A lightsaber's blade bloomed.

She whipped toward the sound. Saw nothing.

 _Thumpthump._

A buzzing wipe through the air behind her back.

Spin. Nothing.

 _Thumpthump._

Sweat ran down her back as she turned with quick jerks, searching, following shadows in the corner of her eyes.

Something terrible, _terrible_ was coming.

Was _behind_ her.

Without thinking, she ran.

A foot slipped on the edge of the catwalk. Shoulder smashed the ground-

Aylee gasped awake, her heart pounding against her ribs like she'd been running. She sat up and stared around her room, dark and still except for red glow of a night light. Her hands shook as she touched at her shoulder and frowned.

And then she felt it.

A tearing in the Force.

Suffering.

 _His_ suffering. She knew it like she knew her own name—embedded knowledge. _Ben..._

Aylee tossed her sheets aside and darted from her room. She loped through the dim, empty hallways in only a thin shirt and shorts, heedless of being seen or the chill in the air. She felt pain and grief, and it quickened her pace. She turned down the hallway to Ben's quarters and slammed her hand against the panel by his door, breathless, insides tight with worry.

The suffering cut off, and Aylee stared at the door as though she could see through it. Her pulse beat in her fingers. She hit the panel a second time, buzzing with anxiety, unable to stay still.

The door slid open, and Ben frowned at her in confusion, his face sheened with sweat.

"What was that place?" Aylee demanded, before he could speak.

His frown deepened and lips parted like he was going to answer. But he didn't. Not quickly enough. She wanted to shake him and instead edged forward asking, without asking, to come inside. He stepped aside and motioned for her to enter, watching with a wariness that cut.

Aylee charged in and spun to look at him. He wore the same basic thin shirt and shorts. The silver light from outside gave his skin a pallor made all the more pale by the dark hair down his limbs and peaking over the V of his shirt. He looked... fragile. Human, from the mess of hair. Small without their many layers of garb. He held one arm across his body, a protective, unconscious gesture as he took a step closer.

"What place?" he asked, searching her eyes.

"It was... white. Cylindrical. It seemed to go up forever. Down forever. There were..." She closed her eyes, trying to remember details. "Walkways. Forcefields. I don't..." She looked at him, sure that he knew. He must know.

His face fell into a frown and he turned away, like he couldn't stand to look at her. "You saw my dream," he said, voice very small.

Not technically true. "Shared it." That made sense now. She'd been him in the fear. His anxiety.

"Why?" He chanced to look at her, the word cutting and pained.

"I-I don't know. It started a few weeks ago—"

"A few weeks!" He flung his arms out. "Why didn't you—" He cut himself off and visibly schooled his features.

Aylee's stomach grew hot with guilt.

"Why now?" Ben asked, keeping his gaze trained on the floor.

Her chest ached. She had seen... She hadn't intended to see. But dreams, dreams were innermost thoughts, inviolately personal.

"I wasn't sure it was really happening," she answered, pushing the words out over a lump in her throat. She swallowed painfully. "Tonight was the first time I woke up and felt you suffering. And—and then I understood. They weren't just strange dreams."

He lifted his eyes and gave her a long look she couldn't decipher. He should be angry.

He didn't feel angry.

Slowly, he turned away, rubbing at his forehead, and padded over to the kitchenette. Aylee watched him, not moving, sure that if she moved he'd realize the gravity of what she'd done. She watched his shoulders flex as he moved, and eventually recognized the motions.

He was making tea.

The vice around Aylee's throat eased.

He was making tea...

She unfroze and went to sit at the table, the chair and tabletop chill against her skin. He poured and measured and counted, taking his time. While he waited, he combed his hair into some kind of order with his fingers, then set out a tray with the service. Aylee sat up straighter when he finally turned around and brought the whole thing over, set it down gently, and went through the ritual of pouring, swirling the pot one direction, then the other, then pouring just enough tea to cover the bottom of one of the small cups. This he placed in front of her for inspection.

Aylee bowed her head, took up the cup in both hands, and drank the few drops. When she set it down, she bowed her head a second time, and Ben filled her cup to the proper limit before pouring some for himself. He set the pot on the tray between them and slid onto the opposite chair.

His hands wrapped around the small cup, and he drummed callused fingers against the glass. He didn't lift his gaze from the teapot, and Aylee wondered what lay on the other side of this hesitancy.

She took a sip of tea and paused, cup halfway in the air, when he found his courage.

"I've seen your dreams, too, I think." He glanced up. "I didn't know."

Heat crept up her neck and chill raced down her arms as she very carefully set the tea cup back down. _Which dreams?_ she wondered, and stared very hard at the tea.

Ben shifted in his seat, and Aylee looked up at him, his hair still plastered to his temples, face drawn. He nudged his cup with one finger, avoiding her eyes.

"It was the generator complex in the queen's palace on Naboo," he said. He touched the rim of the cup, and for just a second, a breath, his face crumpled with sorrow before he could control it. He sucked a quick breath and looked at her then. "It's where Qui-Gon died." Not much above a whisper.

Aylee's heart cracked, and the dust found its way to her eyes. "You don't talk about him much," she said, voice sounding thick even to herself.

He gave her a sad sort of smile. "The Council doesn't approve," he said, taking a sip of his tea.

Aylee sat back and crossed one knee over the other. "The _Council_ isn't here."

Ben smiled a little, hiding it behind his cup before he set it down. "You're... not a typical Jedi," he said. She lifted an eyebrow. He went on, "He'd have liked that." He finished his cup and offered to pour more.

The haunted look had left him, and his presence glowed again, warm and steady. She basked in it, stretched lazily in the silence and watched him make another pot.

 _Not a typical Jedi_...

Aylee stood while he waited for the leaves to steep and drifted to the windows that looked out on the city. His room had a better view. The perks of being a good soldier.

 _Not a typical Jedi._

What might he say? Her heart quickened a little, and then his reflection came into view next to her own, not an arm's length away.

"Ben..." Aylee turned to him.

"Why do you call me that?" he asked lightly, smiling a little so it touched his eyes.

Aylee froze.

And then a sword of icy panic dropped through her spine.

 _Oh._

 _Oh, no no._

 _Thumpthumpthumpthump._ Her pulse painful in her ears, her fingers.

Her eyes widened as her stomach dropped, and she backed away, stumbling around a chair.

 _No, no no._ She _hadn't._ Not all this time.

Her hands flew to her mouth, and she shuffled back flashing hot with embarrassment. Mortification ripped through her body, stole her lungs. She'd thought. She'd thought. He'd always _answered_!

He followed, his amused look turned to confusion, then worry as he reached out like he could fix something clumsily broken. Aylee's insides melted with shame and knees lost form. She bumped into the dining table with her hip.

He started, "I'm sorry I—"

"Why didn't you say anything!"

They spoke over one another.

She couldn't breathe. Her stomach opened to a pit, flames curled up her cheeks. The wrong _name!_

He shrugged, looking helpless. "I... thought it was a pet?...name?"

 _What?_ Her hands dropped away in shock. "From a complete stranger!"

"W—" More shrugging and searching for the right words. "I... kind of... liked it," he admitted, stepping closer. Even in the low light she could see color rising to his cheeks—enough to match her own.

Aylee dropped into the chair at the table and stared at him, numb. _Him._ Whose name she didn't _know_. What a complete and utter fool. She hid behind splayed fingers across her face, trembling a little with each breath. _Fool. Fool._

He watched for a second and then sat down, impish amusement creeping across his features. He extended a hand, and Aylee had to come out of hiding to take it, though she curled away in childish fear.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said smoothly, honey dark, "at your service." He squeezed a little on her hand and leaned closer. In a whisper, "But you can call me Ben." He even winked.

Her fear evaporated in a little laugh, and she swallowed when he turned her hand over and held it in both of his, smoothing over the delicate skin and bones with his thumb. His smile lingered while he concentrated on the motion, enthralled, and swallowed. They both fell silent. Charged, alight with sensation, every breath was a draught of winter air. Aylee didn't dare move that it might stop him.

 _Not a typical Jedi_.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

Spell broken, Obi-Wan glanced up and then narrowed his eyes. "Forgotten already, haven't you."

She _tsked_ and snatched her hand away, while he sat back, chuckling and inordinately proud.

"You realize it'll be _years_ before you live this down." He crossed his arms and stretched out. "If ever." Amusement danced in his eyes.

Aylee scowled, but it wouldn't hold, and that only worsened his glee. So she sighed instead, shaking her head in resignation, and gazed at him, drinking in the sight. If she had to be a fool, at least it made him laugh.

He settled under the touch of her regard and lifted his eyebrows in curious attention.

She grinned brushed her hand over the table top, focusing on the pure white surface. She sifted through her thoughts, through everything she had come to know.

"We weren't always like this, you know."

Obi-Wan sat up and leaned his elbows on the table. "Who?"

"Us. The Order." Aylee glanced up at him. "Did you know there used to be lineages? Think about that for a second." She paused. "If there were lineages, there were—"

"Families," he finished for her, breathing the word with awe.

She nodded. "All this..." Aylee lifted a hand and gestured around them. "The accretions of centuries of Councils. A mistranslation, an interpretation, one decision after another. Like... stalagmites." She looked into his eyes, willing him to understand. "Who we used to be wouldn't recognize who we are," she told him.

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed, and he laced his fingers together. Not more than a murmur. "That sounds like heresy."

Aylee's heart skipped with alarm. _Twice_ a fool. Her throat clicked with a dry swallow as she started to draw back from the table, but then he looked up again with a warm, small smile and reached for the teapot.

"I think I was wrong," he said as he poured her another cup.

Aylee blinked and wrapped her hands around the offering.

"Qui-Gon would have _loved_ you."


	9. Into the Undercity

**OBI-WAN**

Training for Anakin's Show of Arms pageant had begun in earnest, and Obi-Wan had the bruises to prove it. They used training sabers while working out the choreography and would switch to the real thing when the event got closer. Good for keeping limbs; also good for getting hit repeatedly with a pointy stick.

Obi-Wan trudged into the apartment aching everywhere, but at least freshly showered. He'd applied a bacta patch to the worst bruise on his left arm but couldn't do much about the black eye from Orel's ill-timed punch. The medical droid had given him some gel to apply and an ice pack.

He dropped onto the couch and got comfortable, letting his head fall over the back so the ice pack could rest without him holding it. Orel had practically fallen over himself with apologies and had insisted, at least, on seeing him to the medical bay to get checked out. A black eye was hardly worth all that.

Obi-Wan grimaced at the throb of pain in his cheek and tried to let the muscles relax. The cold hurt as much as the bruise, until it sank deep enough. And then the pain drifted off into numbness. He sighed and stretched out his legs, ready to kick off his boots and just rest here a while.

Anakin had gone straight from the training room to the mechanics' bay to work on his secret project. Then it'd be classes for him, homework-Obi-Wan could count on some uninterrupted rest time for a better part of the day, and the thought made him smile.

That was, of course, exactly why his comlink chimed, with the melody of an unidentified caller.

Obi-Wan grunted as he pulled the comlink from his belt, jostling the ice pack against purpling skin.

"Kenobi," he said into the device.

"Obi-Waaaaan," a low voice crooned. "Friend. You haven't been to see me..." He sounded like abrax and death sticks in a seedy bar.

"Merabax." Obi-Wan sat up a little and set the ice pack aside. "No, I haven't. Should I?"

Merabax made a low sound, like he was thinking. "I might... have something of interest. You come. We talk. Maybeee... we work something out."

Obi-Wan's heartrate ticked up as he frowned. "All right... today?"

A chuckle. "I see you, Jedi-friend." And then he ended the call.

Obi-Wan tossed the comlink lightly in his hand, thinking. So much for his relaxing day of recovery. Merabax rarely called. Theirs was more of an other way around relationship. Obi-Wan wanted information, Merabax named his price. The change in pattern meant something, but he couldn't tell what, and that mystery alone was too good to pass up.

Ice pack abandoned, Obi-Wan grabbed his cloak and headed for the taxi station in the north speeder bay. He settled his hood deeply over his head, obscuring his face before he got in and gave the driver an address in the Jrade District. Three skyway transfers later, he set foot in one of Coruscant's older, more wealthy districts. Clean, open spaces separated high, gleaming buildings. He could feel the heat of the morning sun on his head and shoulders as he walked. Such places didn't see much trouble-the abundance of police droids ensured that.

Obi-Wan walked a few blocks along a residential street, blue buildings with sedate business signs reaching high into the sky, and hailed another taxi, this one directed to the Orange District. Coruscant's districts stretched not only wide, but deep. The taxi driver gave him a small sneer and demanded a higher fare for venturing so far out of his way, but they criss-crossed the skyways and dropped down into the undercity, as varied a region as those that still saw the sun.

The Senate tried numerous times to scrub the Orange District into something more presentable, more modern. They spent millions replacing the old sodium lamps that lined the streets, despite bitter protest. Not long after being replaced, the old lighting would sprout up again, like a fungus not even the power of the Senate could destroy. Eventually, the politicians decided to let them have their dank illumination and wasteful power, and the citizens raised ales to their freedom from tyranny.

The air taxi let Obi-Wan off at a landing pad near The Rancor Hutt, revving the engine as it departed, happy to leave the district quickly behind. The driver could hardly be blamed. The undercity smelled of mold and rust, oil and rot. Without the sun, nothing got truly dry or truly clean. Down here, nothing stayed truly put, either—like speeders maintained by Temple mechanics, for example. Obi-Wan glanced down the dusky sidewalk, taking good measure of the mix of men and women walking or watching. This early in the day, traffic was light. Denizens of the Orange District were much like any other, jobs to do, meals to make, shopping, entertainment, just poorer. And for that, more desperate. No one came to Coruscant hoping to live in the Orange bog.

Obi-Wan grimaced as he took a breath of clotted air and started for the elevator at the far end of the block. Eyestalks swiveled to survey his progress as he passed by a cluster of Kler'terrians. They all crossed their many arms and fell silent as he neared. He gave them barely a glance and set his shoulders back, projecting authority and, frankly, better things to do. Obi-Wan passed by several of the district's namesake lamps and their absurd buzzing and kept his eyes on every darkened doorway. Cold crept into the fabric of his clothes and tasted stagnant.

The gate of the lift rattled shut on bent hinges, and he stepped back into the center of the space out of habit. The elevator only had one destination: a deeper level of the undercity known as the Crimson Corridor. The air grew colder and more foul as the elevator dropped closer to the actual earth of Coruscant.

Surprisingly, the Crimson Corridor didn't get its name from a penchant for dramatic lighting. What light it had came mostly from glow tubes and primitive advertising. No one bothered to try lighting the sidewalks for public safety, as that would have been considered a waste of funds. That Obi-Wan had witnessed, the crimson in this corridor was most often blood.

The elevator stopped with a jarring rattle, and he stepped out onto the sidewalk, checkered with reflected shapes from the signs over every establishment. The only thing worse than the unevenness making it hard to see was that every so often there was nothing to see at all.

No one milled about on these streets.

He let out a breath, and it curled into fog as it escaped his hood.

Obi-Wan proceeded alone down the straight cut of concrete walkway, a fjord between spacescrapers that had forgotten their moorings went down so far. One side of the street was simply sheet metal, dripping with faintly glowing mold. Somewhere, very high, someone lived in a decent apartment. If Obi-Wan glanced up, he could almost see the sky, a small prick at the end of a tunnel of black. He wrapped his cloak close, crossed so his hand rested near his lightsaber's hilt.

Something squished under his boot.

He made a face but did not stop to examine it.

Every so often, a wave of heat washed over his skin. Industrial districts kept themselves warm through steam exhaust and radiant sidewalks. In the Crimson, infrared emitters hung from posts where streetlights should have been. Maybe that was the source of the name, though it didn't make as fine a warning. Infrared is invisible to humans; they just feel the heat, penetrating deep into tissue and warming from the inside. Breath still frosts on the chill air.

Not every place in the Crimson was quite so dead; he'd just chosen to enter from a particularly back way. Obi-Wan kept his attention focused on the street ahead of him and stretched his senses out all around. At the corner of 116th, he turned and found the first signs of life. Broken advertising flickered on the walls, playing the same second animation on loop. The storefronts on either side of the street crackled with screens and holographic dancers: come in, have a good time, we have what you need, nerf meat on sale, air purifiers half off...

Obi-Wan had taken to breathing through the mouth to keep the stench at bay. Nothing _lived_ in the undercity; it only came here to die. The aliens scurrying from one store to another, hunched, coughing, blinking at him with a slow delirium seemed proof of that. It could have been any time of day for them-just waking, almost asleep-time was only a number to pay your taxes by when the light never changed.

Red for stop.

Maybe that's where the name came from...

Like the Antiro, the stores here were largely owner-run establishments, their storefronts open to the street flashing their best wares. All the better to lure you with...

He came to the sign for Superior Speeder Imports, a gawdy glow of yellow and blue, and navigated around an engine on display into the storefront proper. The metal grating floor creaked under his weight, and the tang of ozone from plasma coils rolled on the air. Obi-Wan waited at the edge of the threshold while a real customer meandered through the racks of parts under Merabax's watchful eye. He could just feel the heat from the shop's emitters, another tactic to bring in the wayward shopper, and waited patiently. It crossed his mind to _suggest_ that the man find somewhere else to be, but anyone dealing in the Crimson could use all the business they could get.

After a few long minutes, the shop emptied, and Obi-Wan stepped up to the scratched glass counter, drawing back his hood.

Merabax swung up onto the counter to meet him. "Obi-Wan Friend!" Smooth, deep voice. It was a peculiarity of dug physiology that they walked on their forelimbs and gripped with their hindquarters. It made them strangely compact and agile, prone to acrobatics. Merabax scowled and grabbed Obi-Wan's face, peering at his black eye. "What happen to you? Get jumped in the Crimson?"

"No..." He brushed the dug's painful grip off. "I'm fine, no one bothered me."

Merabax tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if he believed that. "Didn't think you'd be here so fast," he said instead.

Obi-Wan shrugged at him. "I figured if you were calling, it must be important. That... isn't our normal arrangement."

The dug smiled, his thin snout looking wicked. "I heard something, and I thought, Obi-Wan, my friend, he needs to know. Big deal for him, maybe. Valuable information." Merabax paced away on the countertop, peering out the storefront and then back around. He grabbed a box of parts off the counter and hopped down to the floor to start putting them away. Near as Obi-Wan could tell, his filing system defied any logic. Out of habit, he glanced over to the door to back room. It was usually open. There was usually the sharply contrasted outline of a dug peering at a screen—Ithiko, Merabax's mate. The room stood empty.

Merabax hauled himself up on the metal racks, dangling from a pole as he dropped his wares into place. Obi-Wan crossed his arms and turned to watch him as a bit of tension gathered in his gut. "And your price?" he asked.

The dug swung around, box still in one hind-hand, and touched the other to his bony chest. "My friend . . . I would tell you for free..."

Obi-Wan quirked at eyebrow.

"But . . ."

 _There it is..._

"I could use a little help with something . . ." Merabax said, and dropped back to the ground.

"A favor," Obi-Wan offered, gesturing with a small sweep of his hand.

"Yes, yes."

"Between friends."

"Absolutely!" Merabax tossed the box over the counter into the back room and swung back up on the counter. He leaned in, whispering. "These guys . . . They take my shipments. Demand money from me." He flung his hands open and empty. "I don't have this kind of money."

"Guys." That was unexpected. Obi-Wan frowned and let his arms fall to his sides. "What guys?"

"I don't know. New! They come around here the last few weeks. I do honest business!"

Honest was relative, but as far as Obi-Wan had ever been able to tell, Merabax was more on the cheap parts and money laundering end of things than murder. He'd been a good source of information the last few years. Too good to let hang out to dry.

The dark back room clawed at his attention.

"You . . . called me about a robbery." Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, and let intuition layer over the way Bax's fingers tightened and the flickers in his expression. "You're sure that's all?"

Merabax hesitated and peered out toward the street again, scanning passersby. He pressed his lips shut, and Obi-Wan got that telltale sinking in his gut.

"Bax . . ." he said gently and took a step closer. "Where's Ithiko?"

The dug flinched and pinned his gaze somewhere out in the street, somewhere that wasn't a Jedi's concerned face.

"These guys . . ." he said, then swallowed hard.

 _Oh, stars . . ._

"It wasn't a shipment they took, was it."

Bax very quietly shook his head and then turned to look Obi-Wan in the eye.

"What do they want?" Obi-Wan asked him.

The dug's thin lips curled into a snarl. "What do slavers always want?"

That slid like ice into the gut. Slavers. On Coruscant.

"Cargo and a way out," he said without thinking.

Merabax nodded as the wheels started turning. The longer they had a captive, the great chance of being caught. A slaver's business worked best on short turn around times and secrecy. So . . . action. Obi-Wan stood a little straighter as his options narrowed to one and adrenaline started to flow.

The dug's thin lips hitched up watching him. "I thought . . . If I had something to trade. I tell my friend about a job the Jedi gonna wanna know about."

"Bax, you don't have to trade for his life. How long ago did this happen?"

A shrug. "Couple of days . . . I didn't have—"

"Couple of days!" So much could happen in a couple of days. Obi-Wan crossed his arms again, trying not to let his alarm wipe the hopeful expression from his informant's face. "All right," Obi-Wan told him. "Any idea where this gang spends its time?"

The dug's expression fell, and he stroked the tendril on his upper lip.

"Merabax."

"The catacombs," Merabax admitted and looked away.

The catacombs . . .

This "favor" just took on a whole new shade of danger, and Bax knew it. Probably expected that nothing he could have to offer would be worth a journey there. Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and sighed. He swiped a hand over his face, careful of his eye, and then stared at the dented floor. No local police force was going to come down here and help a bunch of two-bit criminals keep from being eaten alive by even worse ones. Merabax shifted his weight from one hand to the other, waiting.

The catacombs . . .

Obi-Wan suppressed a shiver.

"Of course," he said, caving to his own moral compass. "Do you know a way in?"

"You'll do it?" Merabax perked with astonishment.

"You knew I would, or you wouldn't have called me."

The dug hopped down onto the ground and started away. "Follow me, yeah? You follow me, I show you."

Huddled into his cloak against the cold, Obi-Wan leaned toward the hole cut into the foundation of a building that looked like it hadn't been touched in a millennium. Merabax held a metal grate aside and poked his snout around the edge.

"This is where your brigands come from?" Obi-Wan asked him, eyeing the door dubiously. He took a step closer, but it still looked like a shaft of starless space.

Merabax tilted his head. "It goes to the catacombs. Could be others. I know this one. Genti send one of his girls to follow them last time they come around. She see them turn down here." He gestured with his free hand to the frostbitten wasteland of black metal around them. "But what else is down here?"

Obi-Wan nodded at him and turned his attention to the void. "The" catacombs was a misnomer. There were pockets of them everywhere, the original sewers that served Coruscant's first cities. No one ever took them apart; they simply built over them and dealt with it if they ever collapsed. There was no telling where any of them might lead or how far across the districts they might stretch. It was a good place to hide, if you could survive it.

Life always finds a way, even in the deep cold, sunless places of the world, and girds itself in the harshness. Deadly things lived in the catacombs, so the stories went. Deadly things and pirates.

He thought about calling Anakin. But this could be a fool's errand, and risking the Chosen One in Coruscant's seedy underbelly seemed like an ill-advised way to protect the Order's future. Obi-Wan flexed his jaw and peered down at the top of Merabax's head.

"This information will be worth my trouble?" he asked.

The dug looked up at him, frowning and unsure in a way Obi-Wan had never seen him. "It's all I have," he replied, low voice somber. For a moment, the hustler, the conniving businessman, even the slick confidential informant was gone, and Merabax looked simply like someone staring down a dark tunnel with no hope for what lay on the other side. Obi-Wan wondered how much this gang had cost him and what the repercussions had truly been. No one scraping by a living can stand to lose much for long. It's always one bill, one accident, one broken appliance from utter ruin.

"Well." Obi-Wan edged a hand out from his cloak and touched the dug's shoulder. "I'll see what I can do."

He stepped into the mouth of the tunnel.

"Obi-Wan Friend," Merabax said to his back. "They can't know. That it was me. No one can know. You understand, yes?"

Reputation in the Crimson is high currency. And more, if word got around to any gang members Obi-Wan failed to locate, it could mean the dug's life.

"I was never here, Bax," Obi-Wan said, and he heard the metal grate screech closed behind him.

Ahead, utter darkness.

He pulled out his lightsaber and turned it on, finding comfort in the familiar sound and the blue glow. The tunnel led down at an angle, and he proceeded with caution, holding the light high to chase off the shadows. His boots scuffed against the stone, and he hid his hand inside his sleeve to keep it warm.

The tunnel ended in a sharp drop, and Obi-Wan leaned out to let his lightsaber illuminate what lay below. A square room connected two rounded passages, but any more detail disappeared into the black. He glanced down at the metal ladder at his feet. The rungs and bars were dark with rust, except, he noted, kneeling down, near the bolts where some of the rust had been scraped off by the friction of the loose ladder.

Someone _had_ been this way.

He stowed his sword and reached for the ladder in thick, complete darkness. Rough metal flaked and scraped at his hands as he found his grip. His breath rushed loudly in his ears as he felt for the first rung, tested it with some of his weight, and then stepped fully on. The ladder squeaked a little, but no catastrophe.

He tried another foot. Then another. Gripping too hard on the cold metal. His hands roughened with small slices not deep enough to break the calluses. He pictured himself making the climb, visualizing the ladder, the placement of his limbs, and letting his movements be pulled along by this ghost self as he descended into darkness.

He stepped down, and his foot kept going. Toes scraped at the concrete as he got his balance and then slowly dropped the other foot, so he dangled above an unseen floor.. He lowered hand over hand the last few rungs. _There should only be one more._ He gripped with his left and noticed too late. A sharp pain shot through his hand as it took his full weight, and he let go on instinct.

The floor came up hard, and he landed with a grunt, still unable to see anything but a wall of black. His hand radiated heat and pain, and he flicked on his lightsaber to get a look. A slice across his palm dripped blood down to his wrist. It wasn't deep, but it would sting until the cold got to -Wan pressed the wound into the fabric of his cloak to soak up the blood and held it bunched in a loose fist. He held his saber higher to get a look at the tunnel directly ahead.

Its shape was crafted from worn stone blocks into an archway. The rotted teeth of a metal grating still hung around the edges. Obi-Wan crouched and examined the floor. Grit ground loudly under his boot as he moved, rust dust, probably, which meant there might be tracks. He turned slowly, inspecting the floor on all sides, but if the dust had been thick enough to reveal footprints, he wasn't skilled enough a tracker to see them.

Left or straight ahead?

He decided to take a chance on general laziness and started for the forward passage. Not far beyond the gate, he took a breath and stumbled to a gagging halt. If he thought the undercity had a foul stench, the catacombs reinvented the meaning. It burned the back of his nose and throat. He could barely see and it made his eyes water. He brought the bloody bundle of his hand up to try filtering through his cloak.

It helped a little.

Still, he had to swallow down the kicking turn in his stomach and let his senses go blind.

He took a step into something that squished and cursed Merabax under his breath. Every step squished, and he really hoped this wasn't going to end with him knee-deep in anything. A few paces further on, he let the cloak drop from his face and flexed his hand, letting the cold do its work.

The walls of the tunnel up ahead took shape well beyond the corona of the lightsaber's glow. Obi-Wan paused and briefly switched off the sword to be sure. Even without it, he could make out some source of light, a faint bluish glowing that on closer inspection turned out to be bioluminescent mold. The sludge oozed from cracks and chutes in the walls and covered the floor. It might even have been the source of the smell.

Obi-Wan inspected the walls as he went, looking for some sign of sentient life.

His own breathing sounded so loud in his ears.

He sucked a quick breath at the sound of something scurrying and tried to pick out the source. Echoes bounced off the walls, and he saw nothing. Things kept moving in the darkness, drawing his attention, spiking his pulse. They sounded like small things, but he would have preferred seeing one.

Eventually the tunnel came to a juncture, and he scouted each passageway, checking the floor for signs of movement, garbage, anything that would indicate a gang was using these tunnels. He found what he was looking for in the form of a mark carved into the wall leading off to the left. The mold had been scraped away enough for a knife to leave a light-colored score across the surface of the stone.

Tiny claws and a little screech behind him.

Obi-Wan whirled, and the light of the saber just showed a tail disappearing into a crack in the wall. His pulse pounded until he willed it back under control, and then very deliberately turned for the left passage.

The pain in his hand faded, although now he could barely feel his fingers, and his breath fell in a blue fog.

He pressed ahead in silence, concentrating on sounds more than sight. Water dripped in from somewhere. He assumed it was water. The tunnel came to a juncture point that offered another ladder or a new section of tunnel behind a far more complete metal grate. Obi-Wan edged toward the ladder and peered down. The blue glow of the mold descended for quite a ways before the light was too faint for the human eye. He checked the floor for a busted piece of stone and found a piece large enough to make a decent impact. He tossed it down the hole and shut off his lightsaber so he could listen for the impact.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

 _Chink._

He frowned and turned the saber back on, holding it up toward the grate.

If _he_ were a pirate trying to move goods through a secret passage... a 50-foot ladder climb would certainly slow things down. He pushed on the grate with his wounded hand, testing it, and it didn't budge.

With a scowl, Obi-Wan stashed his sword, put his shoulder to the rusted bars, and heaved. Metal on stone screamed, rattling down his bones and chilling up his spine. It hurt his ears and echoed down the passageways, as loud and clear a warning beacon as he could have managed.

He cringed in the barely blue dark. "That might have been a mistake."

The hairs on the back of his neck rose before his brain got traction.

Behind him: rumbling. Not the shudder of clattering stones. The distant, guttering echoes of a growl.

Definitely a mistake.

The growl grew louder, gained scraping claws and heavy treads, and Obi-Wan flicked on his saber and ran.

A thrill of primal fear injected his system. Heart racing. Breath heaving.

The snarling filled the tunnel. He couldn't tell how close. At his heels? It curled down his neck, filled his senses. The sound of it, massive, throaty, coming from all sides. A heavy beast in the dark. Teeth. A nightmare of shadows.

He could have pulled on the Force and shot forward with unnatural speed, but he couldn't _see_. He'd hit a grate or a wall before he could stop. He splashed on through muck taking quick turns, cold air biting his lungs, and focused on the sounds behind him. The panting. The sound of paws. The low snarl of angry hunger.

Obi-Wan slowed for just a step... and then spun. He lashed out with the lightsaber and felt it catch flesh. The beast yelped, and he saw a flash of reflective eyes as a shadow of a form melted back into the dark. He moved his sword trying to shift the light and catch a glimpse, body tense and light with energy. He was not prey-not to his fear and not to this thing.

From beyond the small blue bubble of light... a howl.

A high and long and piercing sound. A mournful cry that raised the hair on his arms.

He gripped the saber tighter.

And then from somewhere behind him came an answer. One. Then two. Then many voices echoing the call. They came from no direction. From every direction. A chorus that rang the stones.

He turned slowly to look behind himself as his bones condensed into ice. His breath escaped in a thin wisp.

The thing leaped from the darkness so close he almost couldn't react. He swung instinctively and sliced into its body, severing something, but momentum carried it. They collided and fell into the ooze. Training had him cut the saber blade as he fell. Snapping teeth at his throat, scrambling paws. It's weight pinned him down.

Obi-Wan shoved a hand under its jaw to control the teeth and jammed his saber hilt into the creature's side. He flicked on the blade, and it burst through fur and flesh. The air smelled charred for a moment, and then all movement stopped except Obi-Wan's own heavy breathing. Saliva dripped down onto his face, and he grimaced as he shut off the saber and pushed the carcass away. The stink of the catacombs had congealed into its fur and stuck to his hands. He struggled to get out from under its weight and stood, panting.

More howls sounded. Closer ones.

He turned the saber on for light and looked around, trying to remember what turns he had taken, how he had gotten here.

"Shit..."

He remembered some of it.

His cloak had soaked through with the slime on the floor and sucked close to his body, a heavy, freezing, binding film. He plucked at it and cursed inwardly as he peeled it off and let it fall with a wet slap. The cold of the catacombs reached thin fingers through his remaining clothes, and he scowled and he started back the way he thought he'd come.

Everything looked the same.

He held the light high as he went, checking the walls for markers. If his sense of direction had any worth, another right turn would bring him back to the tunnel with the grate. He slowed at the forked branch and gave the stones and glowing mold a close inspection.

The howls had ceased.

He swallowed as he touched a chipped line in the leftmost wall of the left fork.

Something... felt like it was breathing.

He whipped around and held the light high.

Nothing. No glint off too large eyes. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that they were there, patiently stalking the killer in their home.

He took the left fork and switched the hand holding the sword, so he could bury the other under a layer of tunic for warmth. The slice across his palm had long since dulled to an itch.

He wasn't even surprised when the next attack came. At least not in the general sense. What he hadn't expected was a sudden explosion of furred body from one of the chutes in the wall. Startled, he stumbled back and through a doorway, and the ground vanished.

Obi-Wan's foot struck stone lower than it should have. He pitched and whirled, trying to right himself only to find he was on a slick ramp. His jaw cracked shut as his ass hit the floor, and he went sliding. He kept the saber up, trying to see, but there was nothing to grab. Nothing to stop himself. Just a gray blur as he scrambled for traction and his hands slid on slime.

Long hours of training had given him the focus to slow down his perception of time when he wanted. He pulled on the Force and fed its power into this focus. He saw the tunnel reaching bottom. A small ledge of solid stone. And then a chasm that opened below it, too deep for the light of the saber to reach.

His feet hit the ledge, and he leaped, throwing Force into the jump.

But not enough.

He hadn't seen how long the chasm was. Underestimated.

With a kick of realization, he chucked the lightsaber in time to free his hands, hit the ledge with his chest, and scrabbled to hold on.

His focus broke, and time resumed its normal speed while he dangled, panting, over the precipice.

He gave himself a moment to catch his breath and then hauled himself up and over the edge. He rested on his hands and knees for a second, many times thankful that Qui-Gon had taught him the time dilation, before lifting his head to peer into the blackness. He could feel his lightsaber hilt out there somewhere.

Claws scraped along dusty stone to his right.

 _No..._

Heavy breathing that curled its form into a growl.

He brought his legs up under himself into a crouch and tried to picture the beast's location. He could see it in his mind's eye, lowering on to its haunches just like he had.

They sprang at once.

Obi-Wan dove for his lightsaber and called it to his hand. He hit the ground hard and came rolling up to his feet, facing the beast. Dark lips curled back from white teeth, and its large eyes reflected yellow. It stared at him. Snarling and whipping a spined tail over its back.

It made a show.

Clever things...

He didn't even see the danger coming.

Teeth sank into his right forearm as a second creature materialized out of the dark, and Obi-Wan let out a scream. The fangs cut muscle and tendons, forcing his hand to go weak. The first beast bounded at him and lunged for his thigh.

Pain everywhere. Burning, crushing. They brought him down to the ground, and the one with his arm locked firmly in its jaws started to whip its head. It tossed him like a doll, snapping bones, and sent his lightsaber flying from his already weak grasp.

They plunged into full dark. He lost sense of space.

The one on his leg had let go. The other squeezed harder on the broken bones, grinding their edges together while he screamed, and dragged him... somewhere. He couldn't tell where, only that they were moving.

Fear cascaded down his body, threatening panic.

He had to get away. _Get away._

His leg throbbed. His arm found new ways to strike him silent with agony.

He shoved his free hand under the thing's snout and thrust a Force push up at it, hoping to open its jaws. Something snapped instead, and the creature yelped, but it let go.

Another growl and new pain exploded across Obi-Wan's stomach. A desperate wail ripped out of him and he beat down on the furred head with his free hand as it tore into his soft innards. He found what felt like an ear and pulled as hard as he could. The creature opened its mouth to cry out, and he threw a Force push in its direction. He couldn't hear a snap but he heard a thud and a low rumble.

Shaking, free, he tried to move. His leg didn't want to work. It pulsed hot and quivered when he moved it. One arm was a symphony of pains. Torn muscle, broken bones. He didn't _want_ to see. His hand didn't respond. His lungs burned with harsh breaths, strangled keens as he pushed and crawled and dragged himself toward an opening painted with faint blue mold. Every gasp came in on razors. He struggled to section off the pain, block it out enough to move. Obi-Wan hauled himself through the muck until he could lean against a wall and the shadow of safety that might afford.

He couldn't feel his right hand. His leg screamed and burned with wet fire. He pressed his good hand, trembling, to his stomach to see if he- If he had to hold anything in. The shreds of his clothes felt hot and damp. It would've been blood if he could see it. He wheezed a breath.

Bloody, slick fingers traced up to his belt and fumbled with for his comlink. _Help... Help me..._

What he found was a mangled chunk of metal, and a dying ember of hope.

With a curse, he dropped his head back against the wall.

He could hear them. Moving. Biding their time.

He had to keep... Had to keep awake. Awake enough to throw them back.

Obi-Wan blinked, though little good it did him, and focused on drawing his next breath while the heat of his wounds and the cold of the catacombs did battle on his flesh.


	10. The Crimson

**AYLEE**

"These," Aylee said lifting her hand toward two holograms suspended at the front of the classroom, "you may recognize. The originals are downstairs in the Archive, and they're prime examples of-"

Her voice cut out at a sudden, searing pain in her right arm. She grabbed it, aghast and confused, and a second later screamed. Quick and brutal, a snapping stabbing pain through her arm. She lurched at a second assault to her leg and fell to one knee.

"Master!" Tir-Zen appeared at her side as a murmur rose from the younglings.

Something ripped into her side, and she doubled over, too out of breath to scream again. She clawed for Tee and used his strength to lever herself back up.

 _Obi-Wan_...

She knew it like a memory, and gasped as she squeezed on Tee's hand.

"Master?" Tir-Zen held her steady and searched her face.

She blinked at him. _I have to go._ Then patted at his chest as the phantom pains faded. "Take over class."

"What?" he frowned and tried to get a look at her arm. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I can't-" Panic and fear beat at her senses. She shuffled back away from him. "I can't. I have to go. I have to-!" She turned and bolted for the door, spinning back to look at him on her way out. "Take over!"

Tee held his hands up in a lost, questioning gesture, but he didn't follow, and he didn't try to stop her.

Aylee's heart beat like falling rain. She moved light and fleet through the Temple hallways, following the sense of Obi-Wan in the Force. She needed to get high. Outside. Some place with no walls in the way, nothing blocking her view. The eastern garden was closest.

She burst through the door at a run, dodged the labyrinth, and ran to the corner, where she could get the widest view. Her breath came in gasps as she closed her eyes and felt for that peculiar presence, the thread of life radiating heat. She turned, turned, spread her hands into the air as though she could feel the cry of pain and fear against her palms. Too far. She turned back and opened her eyes to the general direction where he felt the strongest.

A whole planet lay in that direction: north of the Temple. But north was better than nothing.

Anxiety pressed on her chest as she ran from the garden for the elevator to the speeder bay. She rubbed at her arm while she waited for the car to descend, bounced on the balls of her feet, chewed at her lip. Something was very wrong. _Very_ wrong.

He was hurt; that's all she knew. Arm, leg, stomach. Not where. Not why. Not, not anything!

The door opened, and Aylee sprinted out into the bay, heading for the first empty speeder she saw. She vaulted into the driver seat and tore out onto the skyway without following procedure. It was easy enough to take the first exit north, but after that?

Her hands shook on the controls, and she struggled to bring herself into the present moment. She was driving, so she needed to be driving. Not what-ifs. Not worries. Just the controls in her hands, the flow of the traffic, the feel of the wind.

She took a breath and let it out slowly. Let a speeder cross into her lane. Her heart slowed.

 _Direction..._

Where did he go?

She concentrated on the feel of the Force, letting it flow through her. Driving receded into instinctual autopilot as she turned her attention to that energy. It guided her hands. She swerved off the marked skyway toward spacescrapers and poured on a bit of speed. The vehicle shot between buildings and under another busy skyway. Across Coco Town and the Financial District. She had no idea where she was going, only that Obi-Wan's presence lingered in front of her and the Force rushed at her back.

When she crossed the Works, something changed, and she pulled the speeder into a sharp turn before slamming to a stop. She turned, searching for the sensation of heat across her face. She caught it faintly just back the way she'd come.

Aylee frowned and stood up on the seat to get a better look. As her gaze fell toward the ground, a warm breeze brushed against her cheek.

 _Down..._

She dropped back into the driver's seat and pushed the speeder into a dive. The Works bubbled and brewed with steam and gas. Aylee swerved to avoid the worst of the clouds and rejoined a skyway that would lead her deeper into the district.

Blackened metal husks of factories menaced on both sides. And as she moved further into The Works, traffic thickened with transports and heavy freighters approaching the few functional compounds still left. Coruscant had outsourced its manufacturing ages ago, leaving the sector largely deserted.

Aylee slowed with the traffic and scowled. Her side ached. Heat and cold prickled across her skin in waves. _Obi-Wan_. The urgency burned. She couldn't just sit here in _traffic_. The beacon of his presence, a little stronger, pulled at her.

 _Down._

She frowned, trying to imagine where down led, but gave it only a second's thought before shoving on the yoke and sending the speeder into another dive. She shot out below the skyway, and her pulse went wild. The Works was a major intersection, and the skyways here overlapped. A dive through one... meant a dive through many.

The vehicle dropped like a stone, and Aylee threw her senses outward. Swerved to slip vertical between oncoming cars. A transport. Brakes! Then pouring on speed. Like threading a needle, she dropped between layers of the Coruscant cityscape, still no destination in mind, only the feel of Obi-Wan's suffering and the pressure of the Force for guidance.

She reached the bottom-most level of the sunlit city and pulled the speeder out of the dive, carving to stop, but still instinct said _down_.

But there was nowhere else to... _the Undercity._

The promenades, parks, and landing bays of the upper levels sliced the vertical cityscape into layers. The Works buildings themselves rested on the stumps of whatever had come before. She would need to find an entryway to go lower. Aylee pulled the speeder back up to get a better vantage point and maneuvered in a circle, casting her eyes over the dim industrial zone.

Only one spot stood out.

An orange glow like a pot of melted gold simmering just out of sight.

She hit the nav computer on the speeder's dash for a map and couldn't help but give it a small grin. The Orange District. She hadn't heard of it, but Coruscant was a big place. She hadn't heard of most things.

With a tightening grip on the controls, Aylee dropped her vehicle through the opening to the Orange District and stared around in awe. The glamor of the modern city had no home here. Giant buzzing lanterns threw that strange light out from every building and sidewalk, and the architecture was... familiar. Old. Heavy and hard-edged like the Great Library had been. A bit like Besk, too.

The temperature fell as she descended out of the sun, and the musk of rot and old oil rose up and wrapped around instead. Down here, the streets were chasms, sheer drops next to the promenades and the buildings. No skyways. Not even traffic signals. She nudged the speeder up to a landing bay and stopped just to get her bearings.

No one seemed to take much note. She gave a quick glance around at the sidewalks just to check, and then let her eyes fall shut. She whispered his name as though it might help and turned as though scenting the air, searching for the brush of heat, the familiar honey glow.

It touched just under her chin.

 _Down._

Her eyes popped open. Down? But she was already...

Aylee leaned over the side of the speeder, peering further into the dark. She frowned and then checked her surroundings again. Most of the inhabitants were aliens moving in segregated groups. Safety in numbers perhaps. That wasn't reassuring. She bit her lip and stared down the length of the nearest sidewalk. A few businesses had small, tasteful signs.

And then there was The Rancor Hutt.

She moved without really deciding. Deliberations took time. She no time. He had no time. Aylee jumped from the speeder, barely remembering to take the key fob with her, and ran for the bar.

Heads turned to watch her, but no one made the mistake of trying to get in her way. The door slid open automatically, and Aylee made for the bar through a fog of death stick poison and cantankerous music. If there had been chatter before she'd gotten there, it died on entry.

The bartender very warily caught her eye and set his hands on the bar top in plain view.

Aylee slowed to a halt, staring at him. A Nazzar. An actual living breathing Nazzar. With the long ears drooping down on either side and the elongated equine muzzle and the harness headdress. A Nazzar! They didn't— They never left Nazzri. _Not unless they were..._

He lifted a very expressive eyebrow at her staring.

"I... sorry..." _...kicked out, exiled._

Aylee tried to put her thoughts into order and stepped closer, placing her hands very deliberately where they could be seen. The Nazzar's brown-black eyes followed the motion and then met her gaze again. Worry whistled a chill song between her ribs, and Aylee felt her throat close a little. _Hurry. Hurting. Cold. And die._ On every breath, a chant.

She forced herself to speak. "Can you tell me what's down from here?"

The bartender tilted his head and frowned.

"Down. If I got in a speeder and dropped toward the surface, would I find anything? Please."

He gave a quick glance to some of the alien patrons lined up along the bar. "The Crimson," he said in a slow, breathy voice.

"And what's down there?"

The Nazzar huffed, his fleshy lips flapping. "Nothing anyone needs. Nothing you could not find better here at a safer price."

Aylee frowned, still conscious of the complete silence that had fallen all around them. She cleared her throat and lifted her voice a little for those eavesdropping far in the back. "I'm looking for someone. A Jedi. Did he come in here?"

The Nazzar lifted his heavy, furred brow. "I do not know. What does a Jedi look like?"

Aylee stepped back a pace and spread her arms to show him the drape of her cloak and tunic.

"No," the bartender said.

"I saw one," a Kler'terrian with a high, sharp voice sitting at the bar turned his eye stalks her way.

Aylee's heart jumped. "Where?"

He waved a hand. "Outside. He was heading for the elevator. Looked like someone who knew were he was going."

"Elevator?" Aylee looked at the Nazzar.

"To the Crimson," he supplied.

Right.

"Thank you." She dug into one of her belt pouches and produced a few credit coins, dropping them onto the bar. "Another round for my friend there," she told him, nodding in the Kler'terrian's direction. The alien lifted his glass, and the Nazzar swiped the coins into his hand. It was more than enough to cover one round. She watched him count for a second and then took a step back. The movement made him look up.

Aylee offered him a traditional farewell in the sighing, lilting language of his people. His dark eyes flashed wider for a moment, and then he responded with a far more colloquial salute with two of his four fingers.

She hadn't even gotten his name. But by the time she'd thought of it, she was already back at the door, and the bar had filled in the void of her wake with chatter and music. She shot back down the sidewalk and into the speeder while suffering scratched at her skin. _Hurry. Hurting. Cold. And die._

"Hold on," she whispered to herself as she shoved the starter fob into the dash. The speeder buzzed to life, and Aylee dropped it vertical.

The Crimson was much farther down than she'd have imagined. It had to be almost near the surface. She descended into the perpetual black of winter and had to slow down just to keep the wind from whipping her fingers too frozen to feel. Her breath frosted on the air, as she turned the speeder toward the only source of light she could see. From this angle, it was just reflection off of metal walls. But if there was light, there was life.

Obi-Wan's presence felt stronger here, and she chased the feeling, taking a corner a bit too fast and nearly smashing into a floating billboard of a dancing, naked Twi'lek that hovered in what should have been a traffic lane.

Only there was no traffic.

Aylee stared at the walking street in front of her, a dazzling array of ancient signs and gaudy advertisements. This... had to be it. But there wasn't even a landing pad! She scowled and brought the vehicle closer to the sidewalk. Short on choices, she grabbed the fob and left it where it was, hovering in empty space and begging for a parking ticket.

With a short, Force-assisted jump, she landed on the sidewalk and immediately felt heat seep into her bones. Startled, she turned, searching. Her breath still showed on the air, but her fingers could feel again.

 _Necessity,_ she thought. And a mystery for a different day.

Aylee started down the marketplace with no idea what she was looking for. Information. A map. An obvious scene of attack. A trail of blood would be helpful.

She opted for the second shop on the right, because its clerk was half out in the street hanging garments on a rack.

"Excuse me," she said, and the clerk, a human, looked up. "I'm wondering if you can help me. I'm looking for someone."

"Wrong shop, lady." He hooked his thumb toward one of the billboards of writhing dancers.

Aylee scowled. "No, I—" She pulled her imagecaster from her belt and called up a hologram of Obi-Wan from his Temple personnel file. She held the image out. "Have you seen this man? Please. It's important."

The clerk narrowed his eyes at her, without looking at the hologram. She let a bit of her worry and fear show through, and the unexpected openness of it surprised him into compliance; a bit of the hardness left his face. He looked at the hologram and squinted at Obi-Wan's face before straightening.

"I'm sorry, lady, but no one looking like that came to my shop today."

Her heart fell a little, and she nodded. "Thank you... Thank you for looking."

The man watched her go, and then turned back to his task.

She tried a few more shops with the same result. If they were willing to talk at all once she claimed to be looking for someone, they didn't recognize the image. And they weren't lying about it. At least a lie would have been _something_.

 _Hurry. Hurting. Cold. And die._

A scream built behind her clenched jaw, and she squeezed on the imagecaster until her hand hurt. She needed a new tactic. A new . . . something. Perspective.

She shook her head and looked up at the light tube signs and blinking, maddening ads, half-broken and looping. The flashing and stuttered motions kicked at her brain, and she had to look away. She glanced at the next few shops to try, and the world twisted sideways. Deja vu shivered across the back of her neck. Superior Speeder Imports . . .

Her body seemed to move on its own toward the shop as she stared at the sign, both sure that she'd seen it and absolutely knowing she'd never been to this part of Coruscant before. The warm pressure of Obi-Wan's presence brushed across her senses as she stepped over the threshold of the shop. As sure a map as any.

The metal floor clattered against itself as she eased down a row of shelving and another wave of heat rushed up her exposed skin. Metal parts cluttered the shop floor to ceiling, arranged by a logic that bounced off her brain. She scowled at disarray and lack of labels on anything, turned as she moved further in and almost stumbled over a hose that stuck out from a bottom shelf.

"Can I"—a smooth, caramel voice came from nowhere, and then a granite-gray dug swung up onto the counter—"help you?" he finished, the words fading in his mouth. He clutched his hind-hands together as he gave her a quick head-to-toe glance, and then interlaced his fingers. The tendrils on either side of his snout hung straight and emotionless.

"I think you can," Aylee told him, coming to a stop just out of easy reach. "I'm looking for someone."

The dug flowered his fingers open in the smallest gesture toward their surroundings. "I sell speeder parts."

She gave him a thin smile and held up the imagecaster. "I'd like you to take a look anyway." With a flick, the hologram of Obi-Wan appeared. She watched the dug's eyes move to it and back without a hint of expression.

"Doesn't look familiar . . ." he purred.

The Force seized a little, and Aylee narrowed her eyes. She took a step closer and very slowly put the hologram away.

"I can tell when you're lying," she said, and smiled a little. The dug shifted his weight. "My friend's in danger, hurt, and I need to find him, and I'm asking for your help."

The dug took a breath to answer, but she cut him off.

"How much would the friendship of a Jedi be worth to you?"

He paused, and his eyebrow ridges arched. Dug society placed exceptional value on one's network of friends. All societies do, to some extent. It always helps to know the right people. But dugs took it to an extreme calculus. A single friend could raise one's social standing, open up new opportunities. It _could_ make a man a fortune.

The dug edged forward on the counter and leaned toward her cautiously. "You would be my friend? For this?" He tilted his head, and his tendrils rippled. "Who are you?"

"Consular Aylee Desai. And yes. I will be your friend. I'll tell anyone you want." Desperation made her want to beg, but she bit her tongue.

He gave her another quick scan and sniffed, as though he could smell deception. Satisfied by whatever evaluation he'd made, he leaned back and offered her his hand.

"Merabax," he said, as she shook it. "I see your friend. He come here early today. Asking questions." He hopped suddenly from the counter to one of the shelving units and started turning engine parts upright, or upside-down. She didn't know.

Aylee crossed her arms. "Questions about what?"

"Catacombs," Merabax said, glancing over his shoulder. "Heard there was an entrance here."

The catacombs? Aylee scowled. "Well, is there?"

Merabax turned to her, swinging from two clinging hands. "Sure. Easy to find if you know it."

Aylee's heart beat faster. "Did he say why?"

"Does it matter? Nothing good comes outta there." He frowned and dropped to the floor with a cloud metallic crack.

So far, everything felt like the truth.

"Did you show him?" she asked.

Merabax peered up at her and nodded, looking displeased to admit to it.

Aylee's voice hardened. "Will you show me?"

Something flickered over the dug's expression too quick and foreign for her to read. "Can't leave my shop, Aylee-friend. No one to watch my merchandise. But!" He held up a finger, disappeared behind the counter, and then leaped up onto it again with a datapad in his hands. "I send you a map." He motioned at her. "That good?"

She dug the imagecaster back out and handed it over. Merabax plugged the device into the top of his datapad, tapped a button, and a second later handed it back. He watched her carefully. "We square, Jedi?"

Aylee brought up the map. He'd marked his shop with a blue dot and the destination with a red one. She turned the device to orient herself and only just remembered to look up at him. "Yes. Yes, we're square. You have my word."

He nodded, a pleased look on his snout, and Aylee left him, all her focus trained on the map in front of her. She counted the streets, memorized the route, and then hurried through the Crimson's marketplace with worry burning her gut.

The only thing at the end of the alley the map indicated was a grating shading a crude hole in the side of a metal wall. Cold rolled up from the black depths.

The catacombs.

Why, why the catacombs? Everyone knew not to go there. How dangerous it was. Home to nothing but kyvets, a nasty, invasive species. They'd taken over Coruscant's ruins millennia ago, driving out any homeless sentients. They hunted by scent and heat and roved in packs. There was a _reason_ no one went to the catacombs.

Aylee pushed the grating up on its hinges with a bit of Force and leaned into the black passage. A moldy, mildew stench lingered in the air, worse than what she'd adjusted to already.

The pull of Obi-Wan's suffering was even stronger, carving into her breastbone. She pulled out her lightsaber, casting a golden glow into the passage as she started down, and followed the sensation.

She searched through the gear on her belt as she went, producing a string of beads from a back pouch. She wrapped it around her left hand, leaving the end easy to grip with her fingers.

The ceiling and sides of the passage opened suddenly away from the glowing ball of light her saber provided, and she stopped to get a good look around at the room she'd come to. She couldn't see the ceiling. Or, from this angle, the ground. Just a platform ahead, square walls beyond, and the tops of two arches. The bottoms disappeared beyond the limited reach of the lightsaber's illumination.

Aylee approached slowly and found herself standing at the top of a ladder. She squeezed one of the beads until it clicked free from the string. It grew in diameter as its insides unfolded and blinked a red light every few seconds. She dropped it over the side of the platform and watched for it to reach bottom. A faint plink sounded when it hit. Hard stone. And the red light offered some sense of distance.

Kyvets.

She couldn't let go of the thought. _What if they... What if that's..._

She pulled on the Force, drawing the flow of energy toward herself. And then she braced against it. It splashed against her will, fanning outward in an aura of unseen energy. Master Belami had deemed this a Bane. There were two basic ways to communicate with animals through the Force, a Lure and a Bane. A Lure touched their animal minds at the pleasure centers. It warmed in them the feeling of safety, promised food and comfort and mating. Come, come, it said.

It was an invitation.

A Bane did the opposite. It ignited primal fear. Told them death lurked here, danger and violence. Animals got wild and unpredictable under the effects of a Bane, but they tried to keep their distance and obey the imperative to live.

Aylee cast a Bane in a bubble around herself, feeling for any creatures nearby. She kept the Force flowing and settled into the sensation of keeping the Bane active. Then she peered over the edge of the platform again at the small blinking light. Her breath came out in quick golden clouds as fear clawed at her. _Too late? Too slow?_ She held her lightsaber out and let go of the hilt, catching the weight of it with the Force and lowering it down. When it touched bottom, she jumped down after it and started following the pull of Obi-Wan's presence into blue-gilded tunnels that echoed with movement she could not see.

Her feet squished into the wet and rot, and she held her saber high to light the circumference of the tunnel. Every few paces or so, she turned back to check if she could still see the blinking bead she'd dropped, or at least the glow of its light off the walls. When it dimmed or she made a turn, she squeezed another off the strand and let it drop near a wall, where the muck was thin and less likely to swallow the light whole.

Kyvet claws skittered on stone.

And ice peeled up her spine as one howled, sounding distant. Then closer. Then impossible to guess as more voices joined in. Her heart pounded in reply, like the prey they thought her to be.


	11. Catacombs

**OBI-WAN**

 _Get up._

 _Apprentice, get UP!_

Obi-Wan jerked at slap in his Master's voice and blinked into the darkness. Had he blacked out? The veil from one black void to another was so thin... He couldn't tell if he had, if it was a dream. He sucked in a partial breath over chattering teeth and pressed his good hand to his side. He shook from the bite of the cold, even as sweat gathered and fell in icy lines down his face. Fire raced in his blood at a dizzy boil.

Dream or no, the voice was right. He'd die if he stayed down here. Lost as he was, the only sure direction to go was up. Up would be closer to home. Up would be closer to safety.

He needed to get up.

Three quick breaths, and then he held it, listening for sounds out there in the tunnel. A growl, a pant, a click of a claw. He held for a few painful heartbeats and exhaled with a huff, trembling from the effort. The creatures seemed gone. For now at least.

He had one good arm and one good leg. That would be enough. It had to be enough.

Obi-Wan pulled his mangled right arm in close to his body, hissing in a breath at the stabs of pain as the broken bones scraped and tore his flesh. He let it ebb and then braced himself. With an inhale and a heave, he rocked forward onto his knees, good hand splayed on the wet stone. His thigh felt like bone and muscle separating, and he stopped— _gasp—_ as the pieces of his arm grated. He squeezed down on the feeling and breathed... breathed... This was just step one.

Now to stand.

He panted, one...

Panted, two...

Shook uncontrollably from too many strains.

Panted, three...

He surged up on the strength of his good leg and should have had balance, but it failed him. He put weight on his injured leg to keep from falling and grimaced, swallowing the cry of pain with a strangled grunt. He wavered unsteadily and pressed on his wounded side as though he could hold the blood in with his fingers.

Standing. Standing was good.

His whole body throbbed, and he could barely pick one injury from the others. He weighed twice what he should, and breathing took effort.

Instinct made him pull on the Force for assistance.

The world knocked sideways.

Lights exploded in the blackness of his vision, and the world spun viciously. He stumbled and caught himself against the wall as the vertigo _spun spun spun_ and his stomach tightened with a sour turn. He couldn't see much, but he could feel the world twist, reset, twist again. A small, pathetic whine escaped him while he dug his fingers into softly glowing blue mold and waited for it to stop.

Too weak to even use the Force...

Its power just slammed against him, knocking him silly.

He stared at the wall where his fingers blacked out the mold and watched as the spinning slowed and slowed a little more. He swallowed down the sourness and decided a hand tracing along the wall would be best anyway.

The first step on his good leg went fine.

The second step... less fine. A bolt of pain shot from his leg up tot he base of his skull, crushing the air from his lungs with a short, startled cry. He struggled to stay standing, digging his nails into the stone, and very carefully straightened. Shockwaves tingled out to his fingers. He took small little gasping breaths to recover and set his sights lower.

One step with the good leg. Then dragging the other to meet it. He could hold his own weight long enough on his torn thigh to lunge forward, drag, lunge. He kept his fingers in contact with the wall, leaving a trail through the glowing mold, and proceeded by what felt like inches at a time. Into darkness. Into nothing.

A rush of heat and nausea passed over him, and he stopped long enough to be sure he wouldn't be sick before moving on. Hot coals gathered in his belly breathing embers on the inside of his skin. But it was so _cold_. His teeth rattled, and he couldn't make them stop.

The feeling drained from his right hand. And while that could not be a good sign, he couldn't help but feel a bit hopeful that the numbness would spread up his arm and ease the thousand white-hot pins that made him grit his teeth with every jostling step.

The wall curved. He followed. There hadn't been any choices to make, any turns presented to him. It was unlikely he was in any condition to make good choices anyway. Just as well. One foot, then the other.

 _There is no emotion. There is peace._

Step.

 _There is no emotion. There is peace._

Step.

His breathing grew more labored, and his movements clumsy, but he pushed on. Had to get higher. Had to reach... the surface...

Obi-Wan stopped for a breath, balancing his weight mostly on his good leg. But that needed a rest, too. He shifted his weight very slowly, letting the pain in his leg and side intensify as much as he could bear. When a silent sob of breath punched out, he stopped and held just there and shook like a brittle leaf. Sweat crawled down his neck.

The rest might have only made things worse. While he stood, shaking and sweating and trying not to fall, he could feel the longing rise to sit, to sleep, to give in to the drowsy pull of the freezing air and just rest a while...

So heavy...

He thought he was strong, but his body felt _so_ heavy.

The weight on his bad leg shifted, and the suddenly slap of pain slammed his eyes open wide. He gasped on reflex and stared out at the unforgiving emptiness. Black so near to the black behind his eyelids. One might barely notice slipping from one to the other...

No.

No resting. No breaks.

He couldn't call on the Force in this condition, but he had stubbornness enough on his own. He lunged and dragged and grunted and wheezed further away from the chamber where the creatures had lurked, faintest blue always in the periphery.

Not here.

And not like this...

In retrospect, he might have been a bit clearer in his desperate wishing.

Obi-Wan followed the tunnel, fingers sliding through wet, slippery, fluorescent goo, until they touched their tips to a wall. His heart thundered as he pressed his palm flat against it. Sweat ran down his back as he quivered with the effort of staying upright, and the only sound was his labored breathing.

His wrist knocked against something cold, and he felt carefully for the shape of it. Nothing materialized out of the bitter black. So he traced, cautious of anything sharp.

A vertical bar...

A rung...

Metal flaked off under his touch.

He shuffled forward and gripped the ladder with his good hand. The rust and icy cold bit into his forehead as he leaned against it and despair stole away his strength. Of all the ends to come to... A ladder. Invisible to him, stretching up how high? How could he- How could he possibly...

He could barely walk.

A feverish shudder wracked through him, and he leaned his weight on the rungs. Eyes squeezed shut, he concentrated on the feeling of the iron against his skin, the stinging pain of it. The coal and embers flashed bright and wild, searing his gut with a new agony.

The spell passed, but the weakness remained. Every muscle ached, took too much energy to operate. A headache beat red behind his eyes. And still a ladder to climb. So simple a thing to be thwarted by.

He panted, his face so close to the wall the sound scraped back at him.

And then-

And then the howls. Thin and distant and ghostly in the dark.

What remained of his blood pumped faster, and he felt for the bottom rung. He had to keep his hand on the vertical bar rather than risk missing a rung, but he hauled himself up one. Then two.

Shaking...

Heaved breaths.

He roared behind his teeth as he pushed upwards and latched onto hard steel. He couldn't feel his fingers. His good leg burned with overuse, trembled uncontrollably. There is a point at which you cannot push a body any further.

Obi-Wan hugged the vertical bar, wrapping his arm around it to ease the numbing pain in his fingers. He clung, not knowing how far he'd come, and fought to keep his thoughts at bay. Just focus on the task, on the moment.

His body _hurt_.

And the exhaustion...

He wheezed, shivering, and hugged the bar tighter so rust flaked onto his eyelashes, his beard. An ache rose in his jaw from grinding his teeth, and for a second he saw stars. If he blacked out again, could he even tell? Fall and die and never know it. It would be rest. And peace.

A frustrated roar boiled out and echoed off the stones, followed by the rushed wind of panted breaths.

His thoughts turned to Anakin. If he didn't make it out of here, who would look out for him? Who would teach him?

The Council didn't believe he was the Chosen One. _Pant... Pant..._ Obi-Wan barely believed it.

But he had made a promise. The most- The most important promise he'd ever made.

His throat closed around a gush of sorrow.

"I promise," he said out loud, whispered only to himself.

He inhaled through his nose as deep as his burning lungs would go and forced his body into motion again.

There wasn't enough air, or enough oxygen, or enough something. Every so often he had to stop and just breathe. And in the moment of rest, his mind wandered. A chal'tek game. He had a chal'tek game scheduled for tomorrow that he needed to get to. He'd been working up a strategy for weeks, and now, now it was playing out on the board, better than he'd hoped. He was going to win, he was sure of it, but the path to getting there...

The path was filled with afternoon hours in Aylee's quarters, watching her try to outsmart him.

Just-just watching _her_. Letting her hair fall from a brutal braid. Chewing on a lip in thought. The automatic way her hand went for a cup of caf long after it was empty.

He was wasting time in this _stupid_ catacomb when he had a chal'tek game to get to.

With another roar, Obi-Wan strained against the acid weakness in his limbs and surged upward again, rung after slow rung.

He had... _Pant..._ a master strategy to...

 _Make her laugh_

...win.

His hand followed the vertical bar up, and the metal bent over. Obi-Wan's stomach flipped as he leaned against the ladder and felt for the stones themselves. The wall ended, and his hand slipped over the top onto a flat surface above.

Elation bubbled up his spine but he had to be slow, cautious. If he fell now... what a fool. He gripped the ladder in a shaking hand and stepped up, up, up, until he was almost bent double. He crawled carefully out onto the platform, feeling his way in the pitch black, and then collapsed onto his back with a huff of relief.

 _In. Out._

 _In. Out._

Short breaths.

So cold.

He looked around with wide eyes, but no mold lit the space. He had only what he could feel. Frozen stone at his back.

Exhaustion crept up and over his limbs with long, coaxing fingers. _Feel better_ , they said, caressing his aches. _Be warm again_ , brushing his eyelids. It's okay to be tired... You tried so hard. You came so far...

His body felt so _heavy_. And if he could just... just rest. A thick molasses of weakness seeped out from his bones. His muscles twitched and trembled on their own, burning through what little reserves he had left. Phantom lights swirled in his vision as his head lolled, falling slowly to the siren call.

A long, lone howl echoed up the catacomb walls, ringing off the stones. Obi-Wan roused at the sound, and fear pierced his chest-an ice lance through the heart. He might worry about Anakin. Long to see Aylee. But he rapid pounding of his heart said he wanted, simply, to live. For himself, for all the things he had yet to do.

More cries answered the first, and they did not sound like they came from below.

 _Shit..._

He couldn't stay here. Not in complete darkness near a sheer drop. That was a sure way to die. Which meant- Which meant he didn't have time to be exhausted. Not yet. And the dreamy, seductive pull of that offer would have to wait.

He'd gotten on his feet before. He could do it again the same way. Only this time he knew how much it was going to hurt.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw and sucked in a shaking breath. Once. Bigger. Twice. On three, he pushed on his good leg, rolled, and pressed up on his good arm, going onto all fours-threes. The world wobbled with lightheadedness as he panted at the effort and let spit drip from his lip. It would've been effort to control it. He had no effort left.

The thought of standing brought the ache of tears to his eyes, because he couldn't, he couldn't. He couldn't _lift._ His leg barely moved when he tried it, like drawing it through quicksand. He'd gathered himself before, he could do again. He just needed focus. He sucked his lips dry of saliva and concentrated on seeing his body lunge forward, his leg landing solidly on the ground.

A few rapid breaths, and he went for it, crying out with effort and agony.

His foot landed solidly, but he lost all ability to control his balance. And his leg could not take his weight. He tumbled forward, knees and hand scraping into the ground. Wheezing, he held back a sob and lifted his head toward the chorus of howls coming louder than before.

It was fine.

He shivered.

Those who couldn't walk could crawl. He moved, ironically, in the direction of the howls. The sound indicated a doorway, which meant getting farther _away_ from the death cliff if nothing else. His fingers swept the ground ahead of him before he shuffled forward on his knees.

They really should add knee pads into the robes. Maybe as an underlayer, so they didn't ruin the lines. That would be nice, he thought. It would be nice now...

His sense of direction wasn't bad, although he missed the opening to the hallway by several feet. He had to wait for another series of spine-scraping wails to make the correction, but when his fingers sunk into frigid gel that he was sure must be black as rot, he knew he'd reached the hall.

At the edges of his vision, he got a sense of blue on either side. No matter which way he went, there would be blue mold eventually. He'd never thought his heart would lift at the sight of mold. But, oh, light of any kind...

What he wouldn't give to see the sun.

He turned left and tried to stay close to the wall, where his hand wouldn't be submerged in freezing filth. Even so, he kept wiping it off on his clothes and holding his fingers in his armpit to regain some feeling.

The howls, when they came, raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he scurried faster. Or at least with more urgency.

The tunnel got bluer, and he could make out the shape of his own hand in the glow.. He flexed his fingers just to see their shadows move and swallowed down the irrational joy. He might be going the wrong way. But if he was, at least he could see.

The instinct toward joy died as he heard something behind him that sounded like breathing. Then growling.

Obi-Wan dropped to sitting and pressed his back against the wall, barely pulling in enough air to call it breathing. He peered down the black tunnel as his pulse quickened, pouring more blood out of his wounds.

He had nowhere to hide.

And only one possible defense.

He lifted his hand, fingers shaking from the cold and whole arm quivering with exhaustion. Looking straight on, he couldn't see much, so he averted his eyes and allowed the glow of the mold to fill his peripheral vision. He might see a shadow.

Of all the blasted luck.

A deep, rumbling exhale.

He did not want to die here. _He didn't._ A dry swallow of fear.

The creature burst into a run, claws clicking on stone. It growled, then a moment of silence.

Obi-Wan saw the flicker of a shadow, and he threw a Force push out with a desperate howl of his own. Vertigo hit him like a brick. Everything went black and spinning. He was sitting and it felt like falling. He heard the thing yelp but lost track of it. The nausea turned his stomach full over, but he didn't have the strength to vomit.

So this was how it ended. Spinning in a void, defenseless, torn apart until he died from it.

He pressed his head back against the wall, huffing the smallest breaths while he willed the spinning to stop. He could aim if it stopped.

The beast growled again, and Obi-Wan swung his hand up toward the sound, even if he couldn't see.

He heard it charge.

And then he heard the sound-the distinctive, unmistakable, glorious, beloved sound-of a lightsaber.

A disc of solid gold shot down the tunnel over his head, and in the brief flash of its light, he saw the creature in midair, the white of its fangs. The saber mowed into its open jaws, planing it in half. Momentum carried the searing carcass forward, and the meat dropped to the ground with a muffled thump not inches away from Obi-Wan's leg.

The lightsaber whipped back through the air and then suddenly stopped. He stared up at it with incomprehension, shivering with cold and fear and blood loss. And then she was kneeling over him, holding the lightsaber in her off hand, an expensive flashlight.

 _Aylee._

He blinked up at her and in that moment could not recall ever having seen anything more beautiful-a gold and glowing star with eyes too big and too dark to be real; soul- and secret-reading eyes, endless, overfull with each shifting emotion; an infinite book for a captive student. And now, a chapter on worry.

 _How?_

She touched at the bruise around his eye, lifted the sleeve of the mangled arm still pressed to his stomach trying to get a better look. _Here._ She paused in her inspection to look at him, meet his eyes. _Really, really here._

A laugh bubbled up through his chest and tumbled out as he leaned toward her. She caught him close, and he buried his face in her soft tunic. Behind the manic laughing, terror swelled until the last of his strength slipped away, and then it burst. He cried. He laughed. Both felt like relief.

Aylee curled her arm over his head and stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Shhh," she whispered. "It's okay." She held her fingers still, and her voice cracked a little. "It's okay."

The tears stopped on their own when he ran out of the energy to make them. Aylee tipped his head up so he could look at her. She set her mouth in a grim line.

"I'm going to have to carry you out of here," she told him. Her expression fell. "It's going to hurt... Okay?"

 _Yes._

He blinked dumbly.

"Ben!"

"Yes." The word came out a croak.

She nodded and returned her lightsaber to her belt, plunging them back into darkness. Obi-Wan curled his hand into her clothes while she shifted around. A small light blinked.

"Tir-Zen," Aylee said, voice tight. A comlink.

"Master!" Tee's dry-leafed voice filled the darkness.

"I need you to lock onto my comlink and bring a med-evac." Her voice wavered, though she fought it.

"Y-yes, Master." Tir-Zen hesitated, the pause filling with questions he didn't ask. Then, "Right away."

Obi-Wan shuddered a little, unable to control it, and Aylee pulled him a fraction closer, finger seeking his face in the void.

"I'm going to pull you up, okay? Just try to stand. As long as you can. All right?"

A wheezed breath. "A-all right."

She got a hand under each armpit and hauled him vertical with one swift heave. He locked his knees as the world spun. Then she was grabbing the wrist of his good hand, putting her shoulder to his stomach, and wrapping her arm around his torn thigh. He toppled onto her shoulders, and a scream ripped out before he could mount a resistance. His throat still ached as darkness grabbed him and washed him under its tide.


	12. Daylight

**AYLEE**

It was _not_ okay.

For a moment, Aylee staggered under Obi-Wan's weight across her shoulders and the sight of him, red and black with blood and sludge. His skin when she'd touched it... so cold.

Fear, anxiety, every crippling emotion hammered through her heart as it raced... and his scream still echoed. Panting, she reached out for the Force, opening herself to it.

A dam broke inside. And a white-water rapid slammed into her body. A drowning gush of power. A torrent. Her heart expanded. Her lungs. She braced her legs and her will and stood in the roaring river of it. This was what it meant to be the stone, the immovable object. If she would not move, the Force would move around her, diverting, changing.

She channeled it into her muscles, for the strength to carry him. Into her vision to see in the dark. Into a Bane to keep the kyvets at bay. And what remained splashing over her back, into thermal conversion. Pure heat. If she could just warm him a little, maybe stave off hypothermia. His cheek had felt _so_ cold...

The Force rushed, felt like frothing, and Aylee bled power. She took a moment to adjust to the feel of being pulled in so many directions at once, and then started forward.

He was barely a burden. Her muscles sang with sunlight and ease as she moved. The trail of beads she'd left blinking on the catacomb floor pierced the dark, giving off enough of a glow that she could see the floor and walls. Each color only counted up to five before the next set started. _Blinkblinkblinkblinkblink. Blinkblinkblinkblink. Blinkblinkblink._ Getting closer. Come this way.

Blue became green. Green became yellow.

Under other circumstances, she'd have gathered them up. Put them back on the string. But Tee would understand. Perhaps enjoy making more.

Aylee passed by another yellow marker, squinting as the light sliced her eyes. Obi-Wan was a dead weight on her back, but alive, alive... The thread of his life said so, even if she couldn't feel him breathing.

Howls from the kyvets chased them down the tunnel, and Aylee's heart jumped as the sound scored her spine. Panting, she turned to check behind them. No prowling shapes. No glinting eyes.

 _Shit._

But still, the tunnels crawled with them. She stared into the barely-lit passageway a second longer, and then turned to hurry away. He might not be dead, but he _was_ dying. She had to hurry. Each heart beat, _getaway, getaway, getaway_.

Aylee channeled more Force into the Bane to be sure, and another lonesome call went up as the circle of fear she created widened. An ache blossomed in the center of her chest and spread across her skin. She could feel it, suddenly, a burning in her legs and arms like building bruises.

The energy shoved and battered, and Aylee bent a little, bearing up Obi-Wan's weight. She tightened her grip on his wrist as she pictured the river, the stones, the many channels of power, and then plunged around a corner after an orange blinking light. Nothing leapt from the shadows. No slashing jaws. Just hot blood pooling on the back of her neck and dripping down, down, beneath her clothes in tiny rivulets.

The singular sensation of it, the fact that it wouldn't _stop_ , tightened her throat and pressed tears to her eyes. How much had he lost? How much was he losing? But they were close now. Into the reds.

Aylee emerged from a rounded tunnel into a large room, and at her feet, a red bead. _Blink. Blink._ She looked up to where the tiny light cast a shadow among the ladder rungs that only her powered vision could see. Her body shook, and pain stabbed at her joints as they struggled to hold together under white-capped pressure.

She dropped the Bane. And then the heat. And tried to gauge the height of the jump.

Aylee winced as she popped Obi-Wan's weight higher onto her back, jostling his wound. She thought briefly it was a blessing he'd passed out. Then she brought her focus to gathering the Force low around her. The torrent roared. She crouched. Then jumped, more Force than physical exertion.

They sailed upward into nothingness. Too high. Even with the night vision, she couldn't make out the platform. The leap apexed in small graceful arc, and Aylee descended with no idea where the ground would be.

Her feet hit hard, off-balance, and she crashed down onto her knees with their combined weight. The shock of pain stole her breath, and she almost dropped him. Unnatural strength kept her upright while her knees burned with new wounds.

 _Pant._

 _Pant._

She trembled and fed her body more Force. A sensation of pins rushed down her legs, and she heaved up to standing, still breathing hard. It was good enough. Just a short walk from here. Just... straight ahead. Up a ramp.

Aylee leaned into it and let her eyes fall to the ground in front of her.

The blood on her back. Dripped. Dripped. Cooling as it fell.

She lifted her head, looked for the exit, kept going.

Finally, a crooked patch of colored light grew out of the darkness in the shape of a doorway. Her heart sped up and steps quickened to match. She dropped the night vision as she got closer and flung a clumsy blast of power at the grating that still stood in her way.

The metal screamed and tore, exploding off its hinges, and Aylee emerged into the Crimson, breathless.

"Master!"

Tir-Zen charged at her from the med-evac shuttle, skidding to a stop just short of knocking them both over. His eyes darted over them, and she could only imagine what they looked like.

"Here..." Tir-Zen said, as he moved around behind her.

She felt Obi-Wan's weight lift as Tir-Zen took him and watched dumbly as Tee started away, then stopped suddenly and turned back to her, frowning. Aylee blinked at him.

"It's okay," he said in his whispered voice and looked down at Obi-Wan's outstretched arm.

Aylee saw her fingers still clutching his wrist. She tried to loosen them, but they moved slowly and ached with the motion. Tee gave her a look and then rushed to the shuttle. Aylee watched the medical droids lay Obi-Wan flat and start pulling cables from the walls and produce needles from their innards.

Tir-Zen turned and waved her forward. They were hitching a ride. They needed to go.

Force still roared through her muscles.

Aylee started for the shuttle and squeezed down on her connection to the Force, closing it off.

She was not a stone.

She was the river. Part of its flow.

She took another step and staggered as weakness yawned through her body, a great canyon where all that power had been. Tir-Zen checked Obi-Wan and then looked back at her. He said something, but she couldn't hear it.

A buzz like those stupid orange lamps swarmed over her ears as she took a faltering step.

Aylee's heart flickered in panic as her vision went black at the edges, and she caught sight of Tee running, before her balance went all wrong and everything winked out.

Consciousness landed with a crash, and Aylee startled awake with the sensation of falling. She glanced around in fractured confusion at a dun-colored room and propped herself up to half-sitting. Where? What had—

"Master..." Tir-Zen's familiar, low voice calmed the rapid beating of her heart, even as she turned to him. He crossed the distance from his chair in two steps and put his hand on her shoulder.

Even so light a touch made her muscles quiver in protest, and Aylee scowled as she realized how heavy everything felt.

"You should lie down," Tir-Zen said, and pressed a little.

She didn't have the strength to resist and dropped back onto the pillow, still frowning at him.

"Wha—" It came out a croak. With effort, she cleared her throat and tried again. "What happened?" She sounded breathy and weak, even to herself. She remembered falling. Seeing Tee at a strange angle before he washed into a blur.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and folded his hands in his lap. Orange eyes looked grave. "You collapsed from exhaustion," he said. "The medical droids say you used too much Force for too long."

She scowled again.

"And that you need rest," Tee added pointedly.

The dead heaviness in her limbs agreed with him, but urgency still flickered in her chest with snapping wings. The fog in her brain cleared enough that her lips formed his name, and she tried again to sit up. Instinctively, she tried to find him through the Force, but her fingers kept slipping, too dull and clumsy to find the thread.

Tee gripped her shoulder and effortlessly urged her back.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, taking too quick breaths.

"He's alive," he said, watching her face for reactions. "Still in surgery."

Aylee's breath left in a sigh, and she sank into the bed, surrendering to her lead bones. Still in surgery. Still alive. Not too late, then. She hadn't been too late.

She glanced down as Tir-Zen squeezed lightly on her hand and then up at his tan and tattooed face. He smiled just a little, though concern edged the corners of his eyes. Such a good boy. A loyal boy.

"Thank you for coming when I called," Aylee whispered to him, strength failing quicker than she might have guessed.

He smirked and shrugged. "Art history is boring anyway."

At her slow smile, his humor faded, and he dropped his gaze to where his hand lay over hers. "You shouldn't have gone there alone," he said softly, then glanced up to meet her eyes.

Aylee nodded, her head pounding at the motion. She grimaced and waited for the pain to pass, breathing as much as her aching ribs would allow.

"I know," she said eventually. "But I didn't know where I was going when I left."

He nodded, though he still looked worried, and eased off the bed. He took a step toward the visitor's chair, and beyond him Aylee spied a table full of disposable caf cups. Even half-befuddled, she could do that sort of math.

"Tee?" she whispered slowly. The exhaustion dragged at her eyelids, at her breath.

He turned with a sound of question.

She didn't know how long she'd been here. How long Obi-Wan had been in surgery. How much longer either of those things would take.

"Sleep in your own bed," she told him, grinning faintly and giving the array of trash a long look.

He followed her gaze and huffed a laugh. "Is that an order?"

 _Yes_. She blinked against the encroaching darkness and tried to say it.

Maybe she had.

Abruptly, she was too asleep to find out.

Tir-Zen was gone the second time she woke up. Aylee lay still for a moment, assessing, before she tried to move. The cobwebs in her thoughts had cleared, and details rolled in. Her chest didn't hurt so much when she breathed. That was promising. The dim lights suggested night hours, and the pang of fullness in her body added that she hadn't used the washroom in some time.

Pulling off the tightly tucked medbay covers felt like dredging swamp mud. Everything moved, but suckingly slow. She huffed as she pushed them aside and swung her legs out. The effort left her winded as she gripped the side of the bed and stared at the table where Tee's caf cups had been. They'd cleared out just as he had, and in their place sat several orderly stacks of clothes. Everything but her tabard was standard issue and could easily be replaced.

Aylee glanced down at the thin hospital-wear she'd been switched into. They loosened her hair, too, and she ran a hand over it, smoothing it down. Of course she needed a change of clothes. The old ones...

Sourness turned in her stomach as the memory of blood dripping down her neck flashed fresh across her mind. She touched the skin there, searching for... What? Her fingers came back clean, and she swallowed.

This time, when she reached with the peculiar sense meant only for the Force, she found Obi-Wan's presence, his life's thread, thin, tarnished, but whole. Aylee pushed herself to her feet and gathered the clothes into her arms carefully before shuffling to the washroom.

She couldn't have rushed if she'd wanted. So instead she kept part of her attention tuned to that single thread and moved as though in meditation. It didn't matter how much time had passed. She emerged dressed and feeling clean, if not still tired. For a minute she'd entertained the idea of twisting her hair into something properly severe, but, fuck, it was a hospital. Tabard was proper enough.

No medical droids came swooping into the room when she tried to leave. In fact, they paid her no attention at all. BT Nurse models floated down the night-lit hallways—orange lights shown up from the bottoms of the walls both lighting a path and giving the impression of a lava pit. Surgical droids thudded around on rubber-padded feet, making their rounds.

Aylee followed her instincts as she navigated corridors, drawing closer to the glow of Obi-Wan's presence. She passed from the recovery wing into intensive care and moved straight to his door. A cheater might have looked through the observation glass. She touched the door panel and ambled inside without checking or asking permission.

Her steps slowed when she saw him.

Heart squeezed, flinching hard.

A desert spread in her mouth and throat as she stared at the tubes running into his arm from a machine blinking steadily on the wall.

Her chest hurt. Her eyes hurt.

 _Breathe._ She remembered how to breathe and moved slowly to the bedside.

Surgery, Tir-Zen had said. That meant anaesthetic. He was probably still out.

In the twilight, the bruise around his eye looked black. She stared at it. Registered the rise and fall of his chest in steady rhythm. He had a bracer around his right arm, a metal band with a display showing the position of the broken bones and holding them in place while the bacta did its work. She couldn't see what else they'd done. Everything was hidden by the covers.

 _What were you doing?_ she wondered, shaking her head.

The silence stretched, and Aylee reached out with tentative fingers. What if she woke him? Startled him? She brushed her fingertips along his hairline, moving a few errant strands into place.

He didn't stir.

She couldn't decide if that was better.

The exhaustion rolled down from her shoulders, and she pulled back, satisfied for the moment that he was real enough to see and touch. She lurched toward the visitor's chair with a yawn so profound it left tears. She sat, leaned back, and dropped off as though drugged. Sometime during the night a BT hit the button to unfold the chair into a cot for the proper prevention of muscle strains come morning.

Someone was sobbing.

Aylee awoke gently to hitched breaths and snuffling and slowly opened her eyes to a day-bright room. She frowned up at the ceiling, not recalling having laid down the night before. At the sound of a sniff, she lifted her head, her stiff muscles aching a little with lingering fatigue.

She saw a boy's shoulders, a padawan's braid. Anakin...

He stood at Obi-Wan's bedside, shaking slightly with too much emotion.

Aylee watched him for a moment, until the guilt of a voyeur settled in her chest. Then she shifted and made herself yawn, making just enough noise that Anakin would notice. He gasped and swiped furiously at his eyes while Aylee searched for the controls to return the chair to its original shape. She rose gingerly, unsure of her strength, and found a warm burn permeating her body from muscles too well used. But her mind felt clear, and she could feel the Force gently urging, animating.

Anakin turned as she neared, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes again. "Master Desai," he said, fighting the cracking in his voice.

She gave him a soft look. "Anakin..."

He took a few deep, huffing breaths to steady himself and turned to stare at Obi-Wan again. "He hasn't woken up," he said, then gave Aylee a pleading look. "Why hasn't he woken up?"

A very good question...

And one she feared just then to approach. "I don't know," she told him, her own gaze passing over the bracer showing broken bone and settling on Ben's battered face. Her frown and worry deepened, and she had to tear her eyes away. "But I'm going to find out."

Anakin nodded once, then a few more times with growing fervor. "What should I do?" he asked.

Aylee studied his young face and then put a hand on his shoulder. "What would he want you to do?"

Anakin bit at his lower lip and glanced at Obi-Wan. "Class," he admitted. "And homework." He looked back at her. "He'd tell me to be mindful of my emotions."

She had to smile a little at that. "Then... I think that's what you should do."

Anakin nodded with resignation but stayed rooted where he was, watching, thinking. Aylee dropped her hand.

"If anything changes—" Anakin started to say.

"I'll let you know." Aylee nodded at him.

He didn't look satisfied, but she watched him convince himself that it was safe to leave—the right thing to leave. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said at the threshold of the door.

Aylee nodded, and the boy vanished. She stared at the door awhile, conscious of a shift in the air.

Alone now...

She moved closer, and all her focus narrowed to the form on the bed. His face looked different in the daylight. Spring had crept across the bruise, leaving greens and yellows. Aylee reached out very slowly, until her fingertips touched his cheek. How had he gotten a black eye fighting kyvets?

She pressed a little, hoping this time for a flinch. A stir.

Anakin was right. Even anesthetic from a surgery should have worn off by now.

She let herself touch. The backs of her fingers down his cheek and beard. Small caresses along his hairline, brushing a few locks out of the way.

He looked pale, which troubled her. But worse was the feeling in her stomach. A chill. A black weight. She felt for the thread of his life in the Force and found it thin; the heat of his presence barely there despite the palpable touch of her own hand.

Drip... drip... against the back of her neck.

She shuddered.

"Good morning, Master Desai!"

Aylee jumped and snatched her hand away, her heart leaping to her throat.

A BT droid rolled into the room and up to the other side of the bed.

Aylee let out a breath while her startled heart recovered. She watched the droid check the bracer on Obi-Wan's arm and replace a bacta injection module.

"Why isn't he waking up?" she asked. "Shouldn't the anesthetic have worn off by now?"

The droid snapped the bracer closed and leaned over the bed, peering at Obi-Wan's face. "Yes. Quite a while ago, in fact." The color of the droid's eyes changed, as it performed some sort of scan, then it quickly stuck a needle into Ben's right arm at the elbow, presumably to draw blood.

Aylee cautiously slid her hands over his, staring at the droid.

"Hmm." The droid looked at her. "Master Kenobi is showing signs of infection. I am adjusting his treatment now." The BT unit wheeled to the machine on the wall sprouting the tubes that connected to Obi-Wan's arm. It tapped several buttons, and the liquid in the tube changed color.

Hope pressed at the edges of the cold place in Aylee's stomach. Infection made sense. They'd been covered in fuck knows what down there. The inverse of clean. She squeezed on his hand and waited while the droid continued its checks, oblivious to the contact her instinct told her to hide. The BT adjusted the crease in the blankets over Obi-Wan's chest and then turned.

"Good day, Master Desai," it chimed, and rolled out of the room.

A tension drained from Aylee's shoulders. Alone, again. She gave in to the desire to touch, brushing her fingers back from his temple through his hair, as though he were the one needing reassurance. She closed her eyes and concentrated on his presence in the Force, now a weak and twinkling amber. She thought, perhaps, it pulsed a little with each pass of her fingers.

"Lucky, he is."

Aylee gasped and jerked back, eyes going wide. Her heart raced as she stared at Master Yoda standing in the doorway. She hadn't heard him. She wouldn't, if he hadn't wanted her to. He gazed back at her with that piercing intelligence and then flicked his eyes toward Obi-Wan. A wry twist touched his small, wrinkled mouth, and Aylee felt the heat of guilt creep up her neck.

He'd seen what she'd been doing. And she did not know what he would do. She swallowed and carefully gripped the rail on the side of the bed, watching as Master Yoda pulled a chair to the opposite bedside with a bit of Force and jumped up onto it with curious little use for his cane. He leaned closer, ears slowly curling as he took in Obi-Wan's condition.

"Died, he almost did," Master Yoda said, his voice low and very grave.

Aylee's gaze settled on Ben's face. "Died, he still might," she whispered.

Master Yoda frowned and made a displeased sound. "A premonition?" he asked, peering at her.

Aylee shook her head, the cold pit in her stomach aching. "A feeling," she answered, and gave the old master her attention. He did not dispute her and instead sat into a meditative posture. He closed his eyes while Aylee stared at him, and for a few moments they were both silent.

"Duties you have, I believe," Master Yoda said eventually.

She blinked at him. "You... want me to go teach class?" A ludicrous suggestion. While Obi-Wan lay here? Barely breathing?

"Nothing more can be done," the old master intoned. "Wait you must."

Her ire sparked. "I can wait here."

Master Yoda cracked open one eye. "And cost your students you would, the benefit of your wisdom?"

Aylee pressed her lips shut. What argument could she make to that? That she didn't _want_ to go? She'd already betrayed too much in front of a member of the Council. Or maybe that her wisdom had little merit. Master Yoda had moved a fine piece on the board and left her no choice but to concede. She bowed to him and lowered her eyes.

"I see your point, master," she told him, and forced herself to step away. She clenched her jaw to keep herself from looking back and instead touched on Obi-Wan's presence with her attention, a fragile and fading flame.

Aylee called Tir-Zen on her way to their quarters, and he met her in the hall, laden with datapads and books for that day's classes. She didn't even know what _day_ it was and had to catch up on her syllabus as she followed Tee's steps through the Temple. Her Art History class was moving into the Corellian Havlokism phase, so named after its most prominent practitioner.

Her thoughts scattered on the ground for Tee to gather. He picked up dropped points and finished broken sentences, familiar enough with the material from a hundred recitations. Nothing went quite right. She could see it in their faces. But despite her efforts, focus slipped away from her, and at the corner of her mind, just out of sight, the flicker of a low-burning candle, nearly doused by its own wax.

Time took too long and then vanished, taking Aylee's strength with it. The exhaustion from the catacombs would take days to truly heal. She dropped into the chair behind her desk after setting the class to work on a translation game, fatigue gnawing at her legs. Tir-Zen disappeared quietly out of the room, and for a few blessed minutes, Aylee could just watch her students work. She let her eyes fall shut and pictured the Force, moving around her body, buoying her up, carrying her along at its own pace, in its own direction.

She opened her eyes at the sound of approaching footsteps and watched Tee place a cup of water on the desk by her hand. He plucked two caf tablets from a belt pouch and dropped them in. They hissed a little, then fizzed, until the water darkened and began to let off steam. Aylee smiled up at him, and a tender sense of relief washed through her chest. She resisted the urge to hold him, cry for gratefulness on his shoulder. He would have allowed it. Maybe if it wasn't the middle of class, she would have.

Instead, she took the cup in both hands and blew off the steam, cooling it just enough to be drinkable. Little by little, the spinning slowed. The remainder of the lecture solidified into a speech she recognized. She let out a slow breath and nodded in Tir-Zen's direction. He tipped his head with a small bow and retreated to his corner of the room to observe until needed. Aylee watched him a moment with a fierce pride, and then turned her attention to the young padawans, who were finishing their lesson.

The third class ended, and Aylee collapsed into her chair, drained, even with the caf's help. Tee joined her, sitting on the edge of the desk. He was silent for a moment, just watching as she rubbed her face with her hands and smoothed down the hair that had escaped her hastily made bun. Aylee looked up at him, meeting his orange eyes.

"We could go to the medbay," he said, rasping out the words so they didn't strain.

Aylee smiled faintly at him and let her arms drop to the desk. "I'm not sure I like being so transparent," she said.

Tee shrugged. "To me." He gestured to the now-empty classroom. "To them you're _very_ mysterious."

She snorted a small laugh, too tired to find the energy for more, and stood. They could pretend it was Tee's idea. That she wouldn't have gone anyway. That her thoughts hadn't really ever left to begin with.

Anakin was there when they arrived. He looked up from a datapad and stared, with eyes too big and haunted for a child. He shook his head faintly—no change, no better—and bent back over his work, curling the pad closer to his body. Aylee exchanged a look with Tee, and he made his way to the boy's side, pulling a visitor's chair closer with a rustle of greeting.

Aylee approached Obi-Wan's bedside, pulling the pins that kept her hair up. She stashed them and shook her head until her hair untwisted and fell to her shoulders, making her feel more herself. Conscious of the boys in the room, Aylee touched his arm and then curled her fingers around his hand. Small, intimate gestures easily hidden by the shield of her body.

His skin burned with fever, and Aylee frowned studying him. Face gone paler than before. White as a sheet, making the bruise around his eye more stark and terrible. He looked worse. She'd seen him this morning, and he looked _worse._ She hadn't known you could see the sun setting in a person. Fear rose goosebumps down her arms, and she didn't care suddenly that anyone else was in the room. She touched his forehead, where sweat had soaked his hair into clumps, and scowled at the heat.

And yet... and yet her insides. She reached with that inner knowing for the thread of his life, and the touch opened a cavern, an icy fire that gripped her bones. She drew back with a gasp and stared, panting, filled with the sensation of him turning to embers, then ash. All the fire gone.

Impossible.

She would not _let_ it be possible.

Aylee turned to the wall panel display of Obi-Wan's vitals and jabbed on the button to summon a medical droid. The murmur of the padawans behind her came to a sudden stop, and Aylee stood straighter, waiting for a droid to show itself. A target for her ire.

 _For your fear_ , she heard in her master's voice.

That, too. That, fucking, too...

She expected BT Nurse droid to answer, but instead a surgical droid padded into the room and trained its glowing eyes on Aylee.

"How may I be of assistance?" the droid asked, in its smooth, electronic voice.

She could have smacked it.

"Why isn't he getting better?" she asked instead, her voice hard.

The droid hummed. "Let's see if I can find out," it said helpfully and stepped up to the bed opposite Aylee. It checked the readouts, the bracer, and then its eyes briefly changed color as it performed a scan.

"Well?" Aylee demanded of its silence, gripping Ben's hand a little harder. She wished he'd flinch. Or squeeze back.

"I must admit, Master Jedi, I do not know. The drugs administered for infection should be having an effect."

Fear coalesced into rage. "He's dying!" she bellowed, chest hot, wishing for the droid to cross her.

It gazed unblinkingly and tilted its head. "Yes, I believe he is."

"Then do something!" Aylee let go and flung both hands in the air. She felt Tir-Zen draw closer and out of the corner of her eye saw him take up a station at the foot of the bed.

"I am not sure what we can do," the droid replied mildly. "We do not know how he sustained his injuries."

"What?" She blinked. "Yes, we do! Kyvets from the catacombs," she said quickly, then cast Tee a hard, accusatory look.

He shrugged under the weight of it. "You were unconscious when we brought you in, master," he said.

Explanation? Excuse? Her anger wanted to lash at him, but she breathed and let the Force take the urge. He had done well, done everything he could...

"Ah," the droid said, drawing her attention. "Kyvets. Coruscant subspecies. The only known venomous kyvets in the galaxy."

Aylee's heart pounded, and her hands felt like distant things. "Yes. Those. And?"

Hope flickered a tender flame.

The droid tilted his head. "There is no information available in the medical databanks on kyvet venom. And, therefore, no molecular model of an anti-venom. We would need a samp—"

"So you can't help him." The brief hope died, and all of Aylee's anger snuffed with it. She stared at the droid for a second, then dropped her gaze to Obi-Wan's face, pale and sickly. For a moment, her throat closed from a pulse of despair, and cold fingers curled around her ribs, prying them open.

"Not without a sample," the droid finished his thought.

Aylee spun on her heel and strode for the door, whipping past Tir-Zen. "Watch Anakin!" she called back over her shoulder. She was a few steps down the hallway when someone grabbed her arm, spinning her to a stop.

"Master, you can't!" Tir-Zen's whispered voice strained, and Aylee stared at him in dumb shock, his hard grip dulled only by layers of cloth.

Her body felt electric, animated by terror and the need to act. She gave her arm a pointed look, and Tee slowly let go, but he did _not_ apologize.

Aylee scowled at him. "Can't what?"

"Go to the catacombs alone!" Tir-Zen flung a hand in Obi-Wan's direction. "You saw what can happen. I won't let you!"

"I'm not _going_ to the catacombs!"

Tee straightened and frowned in confusion. "But..."

She should be thankful he cared. Thankful he was willing to check a foolish scheme. What she felt was seething annoyance and the bite of time at her heels.

"I'm _going_ to the Archive."

"I—"

"All right?"

Her tone made him flinch, and he hung his head a little. "Yes, Master."

"Watch Anakin."

"Yes, Master."

And then she left him in the hallway, her mind already ten steps ahead and many years back. She could feel it on the tip of her memory, a page, a recto. Something important about healing.

She walked until she couldn't stand walking, then jogged for the lift that would deliver her to the Archive. She could picture it, her desk at Ossus. The low glow of the lamps, the stacks of books, the smell of caf mixing with the dust.

The elevator doors whisked open, and Aylee charged into the Archive proper, aiming herself for the secondary elevator in the back. She took a sweeping path around the main desk, hoping to avoid—

"Master Desai!" A chipper librarian perked up at her station.

Aylee kept moving with full, intent strides, forcing the girl to come out from behind the massive circulation desk to follow her.

"Master Desai," the girl tried again. "Can I help you with something today?"

"I'm going to Special Collections," Aylee told her, not sparing a glance. She needed to remember. Remember the book. Remember the page...

"Oh! Yes. Of course. If you could just..." The girl produced a datapad from her cloak as she matched herself to Aylee's steps. She held it out.

Aylee slapped her palm onto the pad, slowing just a little so the reading would take. The datapad chirped happily, and the girl stopped, letting Aylee proceed alone.

"Let me know if you need help!" she called.

Somehow, that small offer was almost enough to crack the chasm wide. _Help._ A tremulous, insane giggle tickled at Aylee's throat, but she swallowed it down. Kept walking. _Help._ Yes, she very much needed that. She scowled and shook the heat of emotion from her eyes.

What she needed more than help was _focus._

She passed through the blue, glowing stacks of datacrons into the east wing of the Archive and came finally to a nondescript elevator and a keypad. She punched in the access code and took the elevator down into a rarely used section of the Archive's vaults. Most data nowadays was kept in datacrons, if it was massive, or transmitted to datapads from a central holonet server. Digital, all of it.

Special Collections was where the galaxy stored its antiquated records—the non-digital. The perishable. The easily forgotten.

The elevator door opened with a swish, and Aylee looked out into darkness. _Mountains_ , she recalled. Something felt right about mountains. A story. A fable. A family in the mountains.

She stepped across the threshold, and the archive came slowly to life. Giant panels of alabaster in the ceiling rose to an amber glow, illuminating the space around Aylee in a hundred feet in either direction. The stacks loomed, dead dark giants lined with crypts. Every tome had a temperature-controlled environment to rest in, calibrated to its composition and needs. They could not stave off disintegration forever, but they could try.

In Special Collections, books were organized by source first, then subject. The books that had passed through her hands at Ossus had found permanent home in a room dedicated to the Great Library's findings. Aylee swept through the stacks to the Ossian chamber, the circle of amber light following her as the panels in the ceiling lit and faded with her passing.

Once she entered the chamber, the lights outside in the hallway shut off, and only the interior of the Ossian room glowed. Her whole world in this room. The galaxy shrank to just this room.

Pain twinged in her chest, reminding her that the world _was_ there. Waiting, as time passed. She approached a small console at the epicenter of the room and pressed the only visible button. A screen in the console flashed to life, and a droid lowered from the ceiling, stopping to hover at eye level.

"How may I be of assistance?" it asked, with a calming male voice.

Aylee crossed her arms, frowning with thought. She closed her eyes and tried to remember.

"Show me the books with mountains," she said.

The droid bobbed its elongated ovoid body, and the shelves around the chamber illuminated. Blue, glowing strips identified the books matching the description. Aylee turned so she could scan them all.

Too many. Too many to look through.

"Narrow to... stories about mountains."

The light pattern shifted, leaving fewer.

"Cross-reference with healing techniques."

Fewer still. In fact, a manageable number.

She took off for the closest one, the droid in tow, and ordered it to retrieve the book. The droid had a key built into its manipulator, so only it could access the books themselves. It lifted a small, thick volume out of the crypt.

Aylee shut her eyes and spread her hands, feeling the information on the page beneath her fingertips of memory. A large enough sheet to brush her hand across.

"Not that one," she said, and rushed to the next candidate.

They worked their way around the room, collecting a stack of possibilities on the only work table. Aylee felt her hands itching, her breathing short with urgency.

"Is there anything else, Master Jedi?" the droid said, tilting its head as it watched her set the first book in the center of her work space.

"Translation film," she said, opening the cover carefully and not looking up. A family in the mountains. A terrible storm. An illuminated page, she could remember that. "And caf."

"Beverages are not allowed in Special Co—"

"I don't care what isn't allowed!" Aylee turned and charged at the small droid, and it jerked back with a trill of alarm. "I have a _lot_ of work to do."

"Regulations stipu—"

"Do you know Master Kenobi?" Aylee stared the droid in its small, unblinking eyes.

"No."

"Look him up."

The droid dipped a little as it access the Archive's records. "Yes, I have his fi—"

"He's dying. Right now. Upstairs. Unless I stop it. And do you know how I'm going to stop it?"

The droid hesitated. "No."

Aylee pointed at the desk. "With something from one of _these_ books. Something I have very little time to find. Something I need caf to _help_ me find. Now are you going to help me or are you going to let him die?"

The droid's body lowered in the air, and it turned to look out the darkened doorway to the rest of the Special Collections archive.

"I may be able to provide you water. But I do not have access to—"

"Fine. Perfect." Aylee dug into one of her pouches and produced a few caf capsules. She held them out to the bewildered droid for a second, before realizing he had no hands. She clutched the capsules in her fist, embarrassment quickly flashing into annoyance. "Well, go!"

With a flick of her hand, the droid took off, and Aylee settled herself into her chair. She set the capsules down in a small pile, safely far away from any books, and got to work.

Time changed shape and form as pages slid beneath her hands. Seconds, hours, crude and useless measures. Only one mattered—the knife blade pressed against her sternum with an ever-radiating pain. It stole her breath.

And it grew worse.

Each inhale spread icy-hot pins through her chest, stinging at the backs of her eyes.

Somehow, the droid had produced a cup of water that tasted like copper and rust. Aylee had added all the capsules, much to the droid's dismay, and now took a sip of the bitter syrup, her hand trembling as she winced against the ache. She could practically feel the droid begging her not to spill any, though it merely hovered a respectful distance away, waiting for orders.

Aylee swallowed with a grimace and set the cup carefully down—no spills—and turned a page. _A family in the mountains. Snow. The healing technique._ She tried again to let her memory produce more information, pulling a bit of Force into herself to boost mental faculties. But it had been so _long_ , and she'd read so many tomes since then...

"You could help me," she said, turning a page and scanning quickly.

The droid tilted his head. "How can I be of assistance?" he said mildly.

She gestured at the stack of books. "You can start looking."

"What am I looking for?" the droid asked as it floated to the desk and lifted the top book of the stack into its manipulator claws.

"A Force healing technique. A description of it. On the right-hand side."

"And the mountains?" He set the book down opposite her with reverent caution and used a small, wire-thin rod to turn open the cover.

"It's a story," Aylee said, closing her eyes to remember. "A family gets caught on the mountain during a storm. They struggle to survive. The mother does this healing. And in the book, there's a whole page on it." She turned and scanned another page herself, alert for just a few key words in old Mrlssi.

Aylee finished one book, moved onto another. The pain deepened, sinking through to her spine, and she flipped the pages faster, many years of archivist training crumbling under the urgency. A corner of a page came off in her hand, and she let out a short bark of a curse.

The droid paused and looked at her.

She'd ruined a book. _Ruined a book!_

Aylee stood suddenly, knocking her chair back, and pressed a hand over her mouth. Fuck. _Fuck._ Her worry spun, tightly at first, then threads unraveling. This wasn't working. Fear coiled with despair and she pressed her hand harder trying to hold them both in.

She was going to fail. The only thing she was good at, and she was going to fail...

It took too long to look through every page, every book. She could feel Obi-Wan dwindle. Only the faintest glimmer of an ember when she breathed in, as though her own breath fanned the flame. She wasn't going to find it in time. Not like this.

"Master Jedi?" the droid said, floating cautiously over the table toward her. "Is something wrong?"

A terrible little laugh juttered out before she could stop it. She dropped her hand and smiled halfway to tears. "Everything is wrong," she said, staring at the desk stacked high. Again in a library. Again hiding amidst histories. Again the world out there, _happening_. Her chest rose and fell with short gasps that avoided the worst of the pain.

 _Be the river_ , she heard her master's voice say.

Be the river. Use the Force. Aylee blinked at the piles of books as an idea washed over her.

"Help me spread these out," she said quickly, grabbing at the volumes they hadn't yet looked through.

The droid hesitated a moment and moved the cup of caf out of the way before it, too, arranged the books in a single layer, covering the desk surface. It swiveled its eyes at Aylee, waiting.

She was waiting, too. For the next spark of inspiration. She stood in front of the array of books and let her eyes fall shut, focusing on the feel of the Force around her. She could feel it moving, touching her skin and bending around. Resistance. Of course, it met resistance. She was fighting the pain in her chest, trying to hold it at bay. She took a deeper breath, and pain sliced across her body, but this time she tried not to fight. She merely labeled the sensation as pain and let it pass through her and away. A deeper breath still, and the icy emptiness brought tears to her eyes. She let them fall, resisting nothing, no emotion, no sensation.

A few more agonizing breaths, and Aylee reached for the Force again. Its cool, swift current flooded through, as though she did not exist. Boundless. Resisting nothing.

The pain spread to her shoulders and down to her stomach, and tears leaked out under closed eyelids. She moved her hands until her fingertips touched the first book on the desk and cast back to that day in her memory, letting her hands read the book's form.

It felt foreign and small. She moved on. It would look ridiculous to anyone else, touching books and sobbing on every inhale, but she was alone, and she could think of no better way.

The fourth book had a warm, nug-suede cover. Aylee's heartbeat ticked up as her hands came into contact. She smoothed her palms over it and opened the cover to feel the paper. A scent, familiar, rose from the riffle of the pages, and she opened her eyes at a small rush from the Force and inkling of memory.

With effort she closed off the connection to the Force and shied away from the pains in her body again, her breathing going shallow. She wiped her cheeks with the cuff of one sleeve and pulled the chair back closer with a gesture. Shaking, she dropped into the seat and felt along the edge of the pages, searching until it felt right.

The book she opened was in Bith.

She'd never been particularly good at Bith.

Aylee picked up the translation film and held it over the page she opened to, reading as the film overlayed a simple, computer-generated translation. She frowned when nothing looked familiar and turned the page, waiting incalculable seconds as the film text shifted. She moved the film from the left page to the right, smoothing the pages flat with her free hand.

The hairs on her arm rose at the sensation.

She might not remember, but her body did, shivering with a deja vu she hadn't known could exist. Her heart skipped, and she hurried to check a few more pages. She must be close. The Force wouldn't steer her wrong, not in this.

She reached the start of a new section and held the translation film as steady as she could.

"The Test of Mount Esh," solidified at the top of the page, and Aylee sucked a sharp breath.

"Did you find it?" the archive droid asked.

Aylee startled and stared at him. She'd forgotten he was there. "I— Yes. You can put the rest away. Yes."

She turned the pages carefully this time, not even bothering to read, until she came, at last, to the illuminated page of her memory.

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and set the translation film aside. Its crude mechanical interpretations would only get in the way. Might even lead her astray. She touched the page carefully and picked up a datapad to open a Bith dictionary. She set the translation film to record and bent over the book.

Her body ached with pain and hummed with hope. A contradiction almost too vast to contain.

So close, now. So close.

"Please..." she whispered, tracing her fingers under the first few words to keep her place.

Aylee emerged from the depths of the collections chamber into the reddened dusk of the Archive. Night had fallen, then. She'd long ago lost track of the hours, and the realization that so much time had passed quickened her steps. It could be almost dawn for all she knew.

She clutched the book and translation film under one arm and marched toward the exit with a resolute stride and the passing hope that no one would notice her.

"Master Desai!"

 _Blast..._

She kept walking, her gazed fixed on the doors and cloak flapping.

"Master Desai!" the librarian shouted at her more loudly, breaking the hush entombed in every self-respecting library.

Aylee ignored her. Kept going.

But the young Jedi grew something of a backbone and darted into her path with a blur of Force. She held her hands up, and Aylee stopped so she wouldn't plow her over.

She had no _time_ for this.

"Master Desai, I'm sorry, but books can't be removed from Special Collections."

A stir of anger moved in Aylee's chest, and she scowled. "I'm taking this book," she said evenly, a feat of kindness in her present state, and took a step to go around.

The girl dodged into her way, still holding up her hands to make a wall. "I can't let you do that."

Aylee stopped short and looked steadily into the girl's eyes. "Don't worry," she said, forcing a smile that got the archivist to drop her arms. "You didn't."

The girl had enough time to frown in confusion before Aylee flicked a hand out and tapped her on the forehead.

"Sleep," she said, and the girl crumpled in place, smashing her knees into the floor before she slumped over in a heap. Aylee pressed her lips together in a thin line as she stalked away. There would, probably, be hell to pay. But that would come as it came.

She made her way to the medbay and its dimly lit hallways. Last time, she'd been able to find Obi-Wan's room by following the sense of him through the Force, the heat on her face and light of his presence. Now... She swallowed hard. Now she navigated by memory, the halls seeming dark and empty with no compass to follow. The knife blade at her chest hurt no worse the closer she got, and she had to stave off a thrill of terror through will.

A BT Nurse droid glanced up at her as she turned the corner toward Obi-Wan's room but said nothing. It had, she thought, the peculiar somber silence of one holding space for the aggrieved. She turned quickly before the droid could see her face crumple and pressed the panel to open the door.

Aylee stepped into the room and saw Tir-Zen stir and waken at the sound of the door while Anakin slept soundly in the chair next to him. The readouts on the wall panel glowed red, and warning lights flashed, though they did not make any sound. Tee moved to her side, brushing his brown tabard flat, and followed her gaze.

"They turned the alarms off," he rasped. "Since there was no point."

Aylee looked up at him, her fear slowly crystallizing into resolution. Perhaps he could sense it, because he met her eyes.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes." Aylee moved to Obi-Wan's bedside and propped the book up against his leg. Tir-Zen followed, making himself close at hand.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, watching as she opened the book to her page and laid the translation film over top.

Aylee read the first few lines, though she could recite the piece by memory now, and lifted her right hand. She centered her palm over Ben's chest, leaving a foot of space. The Living Force flowed through a person on winding paths, crossing through their being at certain nexus points. She felt for the concentration of power.

"Yes." Aylee glanced at her padawan, holding his gaze. "Whatever happens, don't let anyone interrupt."

Tee frowned and nodded once. "How long will this take?" he whispered.

Aylee looked down at Obi-Wan's prone form and centered her left palm above his groin, settling her attention slowly on the Force and the sensation of it against her hands.

"I don't know," she whispered back, and took another look at the book, letting the next few lines prompt her memory.

It was an ancient technique, and one that she had never tried—one a modern healer's understanding of the Force would not let them try. She slowed her breathing and brought her awareness there, first. The feeling of the air. Then the feeling of the Living Force flowing inside with every inhale. She let her awareness broaden to the river of Force all around, gently tingling at her back, engulfing her legs in the pressure of its flow.

Then she turned her focus to her hands, extending her awareness out and down until she could feel Obi-Wan's body and the Living Force within him. She moved slowly, directing her senses across the weave of his being until she could identify the essence of illness. Her fingers registered something cold, and she shivered at the touch of death.

Now...

Now to extract the toxin.

Very gently, she fed some of the vast river of the Force down an arm and brought it to bear.

She held the fiber of Ben's being in her hands and let the river wash through it. Gentle, so careful that none of the threads should break. It was a slow and exhausting process of total attention. Identifying the threads that needed cleansing. Holding them. Measuring the Force with only her will to keep its power in check. Letting the power dislodge the poison and cleanse the thread.

She lost her sense of time. And then her sense of body. There was only the Force and the flow and the delicate threads steeped in death. She had no sense of progress, just repetition and the action of the instantaneous present.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan jerked, and Aylee snapped from her trance, disoriented and dizzy from the sharp drop into her senses. He convulsed with a wretch, and panic flooded Aylee's system. She needed to roll him before he choked. He jerked again. _Now!_

"Tee!" Aylee shoved at Obi-Wan's shoulder weakly, trying to roll him on his side. The bracer kept his right arm pinned to the bed and she was at the wrong angle.

Tir-Zen blurred into view and hauled Obi-Wan onto his side just as he vomited a black, viscous goo onto the medbay floor. Tee made a face and scooted one foot further out of the way when he convulsed a second time, expelling a second, thin stream. Tir-Zen glanced up with a doubtful look.

"Is this supposed to happen?" he asked, then inspected Obi-Wan to see if there would be a third. After a moment, he rolled him back flat and shot a scowl at his boot.

Aylee wavered in place, exhaustion making her bones into jelly. "I don't know," she said, voice breathy and weak. She reached out and wiped the black vomit from Ben's mouth and beard with the edge of a blanket.

The sun had come up. And even his good eye looked bruised now in the full light. She had done, truly, all she could think to do and touched his face with gentle fingers.

"I'll call a droid to clean this up," Tir-Zen said, turning away, offering a few seconds of privacy.

A wave of dizziness hit, and Aylee clutched at the bed rail before stumbling backward.

"Master..."

Someone not Tir-Zen touched her arm while the room spun and then took a firmer grip.

"Maybe you should sit down. You don't look so good." Anakin. Yes, must be. Anakin crowded her toward the chair he'd been sleeping in and hovered while she sat.

"Yes, I..." The cushions felt... divine. Like solace. "I think I just..." She curled onto her side as the chair melted into something flat and her eyelids got stuck together despite the light and whirring of a maintenance droid.

Someone touched her hair.

And that was all.


	13. Returning

**AYLEE**

His numbers improved. They bled slowly into the whites, seemingly draining their hazard-warning hue into the pallor of his cheeks.

But he did not regain consciousness.

Aylee staggered through the first few classes after her effort of healing, fogged with fatigue. The thought of even reaching for the Force made her bones hurt, and she fought the constant sting of a headache. Blessèd be padawans, and hers in particular. In the time between classes she managed short visits, just to check, even though she could feel Obi-Wan through the Force clearer than ever. It helped to _see_.

The second day of more stable vitals, Aylee's schedule had her back to back classes all morning, a grueling line-up of languages and histories. All lectures or interactives, meaning she was the center of attention for hours on end, required to deliver and be present and perform and maintain a facade of dignity and strength in face of whatever the younglings might throw at her.

Exhaustion did not begin to describe...

The end of Ancient Rhodian Level 3 came with a sigh so shudderingly deep it mined for tears—and very nearly got them.

Rest...

Hadn't she earned a little rest?

Tir-Zen moved close, and Aylee lifted her head, looking at him as she braced her hands against her desk.

"There's... a lightsaber training—" he started to say, apology in his features.

She waved him away. "Go... Learn something."

He looked doubtful and pressed his lips together, briefly curling his hands. "I don't have to..."

Aylee fixed him with a look—the stern one she rarely used and barely had the energy for. He smirked and ducked his head a little.

"Yes, Master." And then quickly left her alone in the empty classroom.

Aylee took the moment of solitude to breathe and realized she couldn't recall the last time she'd sat in proper meditation. It felt like weeks ago, but the days had become misshapen in her memory and she couldn't be sure. She squeezed and rubbed at the ache in her neck as she stood straighter and drew a long, slow breath. As she exhaled, she let her attention settle on the bottoms of her feet and took a deliberate, careful step toward the door.

Walking mediation was, she thought, efficient. Focus the mind _and_ get where you're going, eventually.

She did not keep time as she walked through the Temple's white, pristine hallways. And no one bothered her for a chat. Not that they would. She'd made passing friends with a few of the other instructors and even some the librarians. Before knocking one out. She imagined it might be a bit more strained now, though she'd have to run into one of them to find out.

Her measured steps brought her to Obi-Wan's door, and she lifted her gaze to the control panel. With a touch, the medbay door shucked open, revealing Anakin in his cloak, kicking and flipping through the air at the foot of the bed, bathed in the scanner beam coming from a small droid. Aylee frowned a little, watching him, and it took her a moment to realize he was recording himself. He spun and whipped his saber up into his hand, turning it on for a series parries, then off just as quickly.

Without warning, Anakin jumped back several feet, toward the door where Aylee stood.

"Watch!"she said, thrusting out her hands to fend him off.

The boy jerked around, nearly tripping over his own feet, and stumbled back. "I, uh..." He glanced over his shoulder. "Stop recording!" And then gave Aylee a sheepish look. "I was just... for the festival." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

She gave him a kind smile. "Working out a fight?"

He nodded, grinning. "Tomorrow I'll play it back and figure out the other side."

Aylee's smile broadened. "You know that's how professional choreographers work."

Anakin lifted his chin, looking smug. "I know."

Of course he did. Aylee huffed a laugh and let her eyes drift to Obi-Wan, picturing briefly the light shake of his head he would give. Anakin followed her gaze, and the both of them moved quietly to his bedside. Sometime since she'd last seen him, the medical droids had removed the bracer on his arm along with a collection of tubes. Only two, now, ran into his left elbow, and for all the world he looked like someone sleeping.

They were silent for a time, watching him breathe and listening to the dull beeps from the wall panel.

"He's gonna be angry," Anakin said softly, folding his hands into his sleeves.

Aylee arched an eyebrow at the boy. "What do you mean?"

Anakin shrugged. "He lost his lightsaber." He glanced up. "He always tells me 'This lightsaber is your life,'" he said, in a rather good imitation that had Aylee grinning for a second before she thought it over.

"Does he..." she said, studying Obi-Wan's face. The bruise around his eye was nearly gone, healed by the constant application bacta.

Anakin nodded, looking grave, and turned to watch his master again.

 _This lightsaber is your life..._

Aylee played the phrase back again, hearing it in Ben's voice, both exasperated and earnest.

The idea gripped her suddenly and sent her blood to rushing. A preposterous idea. A perfect idea. It spread a smile across her lips, and she put a hand on Anakin's shoulder.

"Then what do you say," she whispered in loud, conspiratorial tones, "we get it back for him."

Tir-Zen had stripped down to his black shirt, and it clung to him as he paced in cooling circles. Aylee found him wiping sweat from around his horns with a rag in the training room. He looked up as she and Anakin entered and crossed the padded floor to meet them, still breathing heavily.

"Good workout?" Aylee asked, eyeing him.

He nodded and let the hand with the rag fall to his side. Between pants, "Master Fisto... has a different style..."

Anakin buzzed with energy at Aylee's side, and as soon as Tee looked at him, he burst.

"Tir-Zen, guess what!"

Tee's eyebrows lifted.

"We're going to the catacombs!" Anakin tossed his hands up in a gesture of triumph and glee, and he smiled like he'd been given a prize.

Tir-Zen frowned and turned his shocking gaze Aylee's way. "What? Why?" he asked, exhaling the words with a sussurus.

"Because." She lifted her chin, imperious. "You're going to learn a Bane. And Anakin is going to learn to track objects."

That earned a suspicious look. "What objects?"

A stab of foolish sentiment struck Aylee in the chest, but she'd already told Anakin they were going. He'd already started imagining how _happy_ Obi-Wan would be with him, how pleased with his show of skill.

"Obi-Wan's lightsaber," Aylee said evenly, fighting the burn in her cheeks.

Tee slowly crossed his arms over his chest, still frowning. "He could just make another," he said.

She tipped her head. "He could. But... Anakin seems to think he's rather attached to this one." She wondered what Obi-Wan would make of the word choice, the Council's opinion on attachment being clear as it was.

Tir-Zen sighed, and the press of his lips made plain what _he_ thought.

"And!" Anakin bounced. "It means not having to find a new crystal, which would take time away from planning for the Festival."

Tee's expression remained steady.

"And it took him _so long_ to get the settings right on that one. Like, a year at least. He's very picky about the settings."

Tee's fiery eyes flicked to Aylee, and he said nothing.

"I know!" She lifted her hands. "It's dangerous," Aylee told him. "That's why we're going together."

Tee nodded and let his arms drop with another sigh. "If that's what you want, Master."

Aylee narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. She gave him a quick poke in the ticklish spot under his ribs. He recoiled with huff and batted her away.

"C'mon, get dressed," Aylee said. "We'll need cold weather gear. And more of those beacons, if you've got them."

Tir-Zen nodded and trotted to the locker room, while Aylee and Anakin lingered by the exit, waiting. Anakin picked at his fingers and shifted restlessly.

"What?" Aylee asked him, when she couldn't stand it anymore.

He looked up, a strange stillness coming over his young face. "Do you really think I can do it?"

She gazed at him and let her senses touch the thread of his life, the pulse of the Living Force within him that shone too bright to look at. She had to turn the sense away. Peer from an angle.

"Has there ever been anything you _really_ wanted you couldn't do?" Aylee countered.

Anakin stared at her with dark, unnerving eyes before he shrugged and glanced away with a little smile. "Not yet."

She smirked at him. "So... you tell me. Can you?"

Anakin looked over, and his small smile grew broader. Aylee lifted her eyebrows, waiting.

"Well?"

"Yes." The boy squared his shoulders and nodded once, and Aylee couldn't help the swell of pride racing down her arms.

Tir-Zen emerged from the training room and gave them both a look before shaking his head. "I don't like this."

Aylee pushed off from the wall and clapped him on the shoulder as she passed. "I know... Humor me?"

Tee snorted and started after her with a wave for Anakin to follow.

Three figures in hooded white parkas and reflective copper pants stood in a small alley in the Crimson, peering into a gaping black maw. Their breaths curled up in small plumes lit by the parti-color lights of the flashing billboards from the street beyond. They looked like ghosts, unnaturally bright in the Crimson's sunless dusk. Greens and blues changed shapes over the canvas of their clothes as old ads ran and repeated, stuttering out promises for goods no longer sold. Bodies not for sale. Every now and then a shock of red flashed over an arm or side, or cut across a face.

Gouges in the ground remembered the passing of a metal grate, long since collected and recycled to new purpose.

Tir-Zen leaned a little closer over Aylee's shoulder, looking into the slash in the wall that would lead them underground. Even the Crimson Corridor was, technically, under the Coruscant sky. Tee had voiced no further objections to the plan, and Aylee couldn't tell if the tension in him was reticence or the potential of a wound spring. He _liked_ action. It sent a bitter quiver to her heart knowing he'd been saddled with an archivist as a mentor, so contrary to his nature. What a disappointment that must be.

Aylee drew a deep breath of the fetid, rotting air, feeling it knife into her lungs. It tasted like old blood—iron and meat—and made her stomach turn. People _lived_ here—for a certain definition of living.

They tried not to die here, she amended, and shuddered, the material of her pants crinkling audibly with the movement. It would only be worse down below, and would not improve with waiting.

"Ready?" she asked.

The boys answered with a quiet, "Yes, Master," that brought a smile to Aylee's lips as she stepped forward to lead the way. The passage was long and straight, an easy descent. Aylee ignited her lightsaber and held it up to show the way. Tir-Zen went last, so he could keep an eye on Anakin between them. They hadn't discussed it. They hadn't needed to.

The floor sloped away at an angle, stretched further than it had in Aylee's memory. She'd been buzzing then, so full of Force and power that distance and time had started to warp. The cold remained the same, though. A wet, bone chill that crept across the back of her neck.

 _Drip..._

 _Drip..._

Her skin twitched, and she rubbed at her neck to ease the sense memory away. He was _fine_. He would be fine.

They moved in silence save for footsteps, the rustle of fabric, and the purr of saber blades in motion.

A wall of stench greeted them into the cold grip of the catacombs, more piercing than when Aylee had taken her time finding her destination. There'd been no adjustment period from the Orange District to the Crimson, just a straight shot into the bowels of the planet, reeking of rust, oil, and decay. It clung in the mouth.

Anakin made a disgusted sound and swaddled his face in his sleeve. Aylee just grimaced and led their descent. They came eventually to the large room with the platform and ladder, where the light from their sabers disappeared, too paltry to reach the walls. Aylee stepped up to the edge and peered over.

Far below, a small red light _blink, blinked_.

"All right," she said, turning to face her companions. The boys stood holding their lightsabers overhead, parallel to the ground, casting their faces in odd shadows from the furred fringes of their hoods. "Tee, you're going to maintain a Bane for us. It should keep the kyvets away."

"Yes, Master."

"Here's what I want you to do..." Her voice took on a gentle evenness as her breathing slowed. It was a voice of guided meditation, meant to slip into the consciousness without disturbing the surface. "Imagine the Force flowing. A strong, steady current you can feel moving through you. Your legs. Your stomach... Now... imagine you're a stone in that river, a great boulder. You cause rapids around you. The water splashes at your back, and then it sprays all around you. It makes a fog, spreading from your center. Out... and out... filling a sphere."

Tir-Zen shut his eyes as he concentrated, forming the image in his mind and bending the Force to match. She waited until he nodded, then went on.

"The fog is fear. Any animal mind that touches it will know fear. The primal fear of fire. Or lightning. Fear for its life. When something enters the sphere, you will know. And you will direct that feeling toward it."

"Fear..." he repeated, brows furrowed.

"Hold the image," Aylee told him. He nodded. "Open your eyes."

He opened them slowly, staring directly at her. Aylee lifted her eyebrows.

Tee breathed deeply, not moving for a moment as he adjusted. "I feel the Force at my back," he said. She nodded. "I don't feel any creatures in the fog."

"Can you make it bigger?"

He frowned and narrowed his eyes, drawing more Force to himself only to repel it away. His lip twitched with the effort, on the edge of a snarl. Aylee lifted a calming hand.

"If that's all you can do, don't push it. We need it to hold."

Tir-Zen nodded with a jerking motion and continued huffing out labored breaths. Beside him, Anakin stared up with slackjawed wonder.

"Anakin," Aylee said, drawing the boy's attention with that same glass-smooth tone.

He tore his gaze away from Tee and stared with wide, eager eyes. "My turn?" he asked, bouncing a little. A sponge for knowledge, this one. He'd remember the Bane, and probably try it on his own. Obi-Wan deserved a warning.

Aylee offered a small, beatific smile, fit for a master Jedi bestowing wisdom. "Your turn."

Anakin stepped forward a little and lifted his chin, looking determined. Aylee had to stifle a small laugh at the seriousness etched in his face. But this was serious. To him, at least. A quest for his master's prized possession. A blow struck against the cruel universe that had almost taken him away.

Aylee took a slow and steady breath, letting Anakin hear it so he could center himself.

"I want you to picture the lightsaber. Obi-Wan's lightsaber. You've seen it every day." Anakin shut his eyes. "You know what the grip looks like. And the pommel." He nodded. "Can you see it?"

"Yes..." Anakin whispered.

"Now... I want you to give the image weight."

He frowned at that. "I don't understand."

Aylee tipped her head to the side, gaging him."Have you ever had a thought that wouldn't go away? Something that made you feel heavy? And tired? As though you carried a sack of sand around every time you thought of it?"

Anakin's mouth turned down at the edges. "My mom," he said, so faint.

A dagger struck Aylee in the heart, knocking her breathless for a moment at his admission. So unguarded. So terribly sad. She swallowed.

"We say thoughts like those weigh on us... That's what I want you to do. Picture the saber and give it weight. Think of it as sinking. Through trivial things. Sinking because it's so important. If you found it, you couldn't even pick it up."

The boy nodded and blew out a breath.

"Now," Aylee told him, "now we have to find it. Imagine the Force all around you is a sheet. A vast, flat sheet."

Anakin lifted an eyebrow without opening his eyes. "You talk about the Force funny."

She huffed a laugh. "I know. But try it."

He shrugged his shoulders, the parka fabric zipping as it rubbed against itself. "The Force is a sheet. Biiiiiig sheet." He frowned and bowed his head a little, concentrating.

"Good boy. So... the Force is a sheet. The saber is a weight. Let the weight sink into the sheet, causing it to fold. It's made a furrow, a depression. I need you to feel for it."

Anakin lifted his free hand and started moving it slowly through the air. He turned in place, his outstretched fingers trembling slightly in the bitter air as he _felt_ just as she'd instructed. He'd almost come completely back around when he stopped and slid his fingers back through an empty patch of air.

"Here!" he said, breathless with excitement.

"You feel it?"

"Yes." He squeezed his eyes shut harder. "It feels different. I don't—I don't know how to—"

"It doesn't matter how, just so you can feel it."

He was panting, and he traced his fingers back and forth as though he touched something real.

"Anakin..." Aylee said in her calmest, sweetest voice. "I need you to hold those images in your mind. Hold that feeling just like you're feeling now. Can you do that?"

He nodded.

"Can you do that and open your eyes?"

The boy drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He kept his hand raised and opened his eyes.

Aylee waited a moment while he stared out into the darkness, blinking and brow furrowed. Anakin's breath ghosted up as he exhaled, and then he met Aylee's eyes. She offered him a small, proud smile and turned to peer over the edge of the platform at the blinking beacon. She gave the padawans a glance, and both frowned back at her, their faces screwed with concentration.

"All right. Let's go," she said, and jumped over the side.

Her boots scuffed on rust and dust as she landed with Force-assisted lightness, and she backed away to give the boys room. They dropped like stones, without flourish, and held their sabers high. Mixed spheres of light cast shifting, sharp, and haunted shadows as they passed through the mouth of the tunnel, busted grating hanging like fangs from above.

The stench clawed at the senses. Aylee pulled the scarf in her parka up to cover her nose, but even so her eyes watered and the tears left frozen, biting tracks. Only a few steps toward the next beacon and their boots sank into catacomb muck.

"Ughhhhhh," Anakin moaned when he felt the texture change. "Gross. What is—"

"Don't ask," Aylee said, clipped. "Just keep moving."

The boy grumbled and gagged, and Aylee turned to give him a sharp look. He hunched into his coat and pulled up the scarf to cover his face, as well. They picked up the pace, following the beacons from red to orange. Somewhere between orange and yellow, their senses gave up on the smell, leaving only the clinging, viscous cold.

Blue glowing tunnels spirited away ahead of them, dimming into darkness, and the sound of their breathing and humming swords seemed to fill the whole world. They turned corners, descended ramps. Yellow to green.

Tir-Zen grunted and stumbled to a stop. "Master..."

Aylee whirled, and the sound of a howl lifted through the stones around them. It seemed to come from nowhere, and everywhere. It slid down her spine with an icy thrill, kicking at her heart, and her grip on her lightsaber hilt tightened.

"Tee..." Her voice came out hard with warning.

"I... can feel it. I just..." He bowed his head and pressed his eyes shut in concentration.

The kyvet's howl sounded again, this time calling others to its song. Mournful. Lonely. Their voices came from all directions, above somehow, and below. Instinctively, Aylee crouched and turned in a slow circle, keeping her saber in a high, ready position.

Tir-Zen's breathing got heavy and deeper, and he lifted one hand to mime the bubble again, filling it with his will.

The howling tapered as the Bane took effect, leaving the tunnels larger and emptier and ringing with menace. They were once again left with only the sounds of their breathing and their swords. Aylee turned slowly to exchange a look with Anakin. He peered around them.

"Cool..." he said, nodding in appreciation at Tir-Zen, though Tee's eyes remained shut.

Aylee smirked, though kept her lightsaber at the ready. "Very cool," she agreed.

They waited, both watching as Tir-Zen lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He shook very slightly and panted but nodded back.

"There... were a lot of them," he whispered, between breaths. He bent to rest his hand against his leg, fighting to recover from the exertion.

"Can you maintain it?" Aylee asked him.

"Yes, Master." Tee huffed.

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying that just to impress me?"

Tee glanced up and grinned a little. "Yes, Master." He stood up slowly, and Aylee took careful note of the set of his shoulders. He was holding himself wide, as though the Force needed a physically larger space to scatter into a shield. It didn't, but his body needed the fiction to work with.

"Anakin?" Aylee asked as she moved past him, taking the lead again. "Do you still—"

"I can feel it."

"Good. Because we're almost out of beacons."

The green lights led them into blue, and the spot where Aylee had found Obi-Wan at death's door a few days before. The corpse of the kyvet she'd killed had been reduced to bone, eaten by its brethren. Aylee pulled a second string of beacons from her pocket as they edged around the bones.

"All right. Your turn," she said, glancing at Anakin.

He squared his shoulders and stretched out his hand, feeling through the Force for the lightsaber's signature.

"It's..." He lifted his hand. Lowered it. Cocked his head to one side. "Down," he said, sounding confused.

Aylee checked the angle of his arm and the direction. "Then... we look for a way down."

They followed the tunnel a bit further, and the wall to the right opened into a room. Aylee stepped in, holding her saber high, and the light glinted off metal. A ladder. That seemed almost too easy. She dropped a beacon at the entrance and paced to the platform's edge, the sound of glopping boots behind her. She squeezed another beacon free from the string. It popped to full size between her fingers, and she dropped the little ball straight down.

It landed without a sound.

More muck.

Glorious.

The shaft down was too narrow for a safe drop, even a controlled one, so Aylee stashed her lightsaber and swung onto the ladder. A pulsing green shadow of her blade's light swam in the sudden black of her vision, and her fingers gripped cold metal.

It crumbled under her hand, coming off in flakes, but she descended, rung after rung. At first, the light from Anakin's saber danced over her coat, so she could see her arms, glowing as she moved. But then she passed out of range, and only the ghost image burned into her retinas interrupted the cloying black.

She blinked, and it made no difference.

Eventually, her foot scraped down the wall and sank into the thick muck on the floor. Her fingers ached from the cold, and she dusted the rust from her hands. She turned, slowly, and let her eyes adjust.

Blue fluorescent mold lined the walls and ceiling of the hallway ahead. It was enough to give the path shape, if not enough to see by. The occlusion in her vision faded, and she took a few steps down the hall, drawing closer to the wall.

Something...

She tilted her head and looked at the glowing mold, sometimes directly, sometimes askance. It was brighter at an angle. Except for a set of black lines down the right side. She frowned and reached a hand up. Stopped.

Finger tracks.

Her heart thumped heavy in her chest.

Obi-Wan's... Guiding himself through the darkness, frozen and broken.

He must have known he was dying.

Everything seemed to grow colder. The blackness sharper. The whole weight of Coruscant above pressed down, compacting this tomb into a repressed memory. She forced a breath like knives and sought in the Force for the sense of him, that amber glow and soothing heat. He should be out of reach, and yet... she could sense it. Hovering at the edges like a sunrise or a song.

Aylee blinked at the track marks in the blue goo, drawing her attention back, and flicked on her lightsaber again. Golden light bloomed into the tunnel, drowning out the paltry bioluminescence.

Behind her, Anakin touched ground then trudged to meet her. He glanced up, and the light cast deep shadows across his face. They exchanged nods, and Anakin lifted his hand to find their way.

They proceeded in fits.

Anakin's directions often led to dead ends, bricked walls. They had to retrace their steps, picking up and resetting the beacons along the way, to leave themselves a useful trail. Most halls looked identical, and they took so many turns that finding their way out unaided would have been more miracle than skill.

The three of them fell into natural silence, save for Anakin giving directions. Voices carried too far, too loud. Screaming in a graveyard. Their breaths scraped the stones.

Most hallways bore shafts in the walls leading up or down with no discernible purpose. Garbage chutes once upon a millennia, perhaps.

Aylee slowed as a wall materialized out of the gloom in front of them.

Another dead end.

She sighed and turned around, waving at the boys to head back and look for a turn to take. They wheeled. And the silence peeled away from the long, rolling cry of a kyvet. It came from the direction of their last yellow beacon. It sounded distant. Also hungry...

"Keep going," Aylee told them, voice pitched low.

Anakin unstuck his feet and started moving, following Tir-Zen who kept his lightsaber held at a ready angle.

Aylee slowed her breathing to dampen the sound, stepped more gently to avoid the suck and squish of her boots. Her muscles tightened with anticipation as another kyvet howl carved through the darkness, and she tried to judge the distance and direction.

Step.

She scanned, all senses keen.

Step.

Slow breaths...

 _Scrape._

A flash of fur exploded from a shaft in the wall. Aylee swung on instinct, slicing the beast in the shoulder as it landed and rounded, cutting her off from the padawans. It roared and lunged, faster than sight. Teeth snapped where Aylee had been, Force blurring her to the opposite wall. The kyvet wheeled, raised its spined tail and poison tip.

It danced on its paws. Edged closer, growling and foaming. Aylee stared into its yellow, reflective eyes.

It crouched to lunge.

Anakin struck, severing the spined tail, and in its moment of pained confusion, Aylee darted forward ramming her lightsaber into its chest to the hilt. It barely had time to yelp before it died. And she stood, panting, the weight of the corpse dragged itself down through the blade, until the beam came free of fur and flesh.

For a moment, they all stared, breathing in the smell of cooked meat and burned hair. Adrenaline whisked through Aylee's body, gouging her insides. It left her hollow, breathing hard.

"I'm sorry, Master," Tir-Zen papery voice drew Aylee's attention from the kyvet at her feet.

She frowned at him in confusion. "What?"

"I—I must have missed it. I thought... I've been keeping the Bane." He scowled down at the dead creature, evidence of his failure.

"I know," Aylee told him as she stepped around the corpse. She ducked, trying to get his attention. "You didn't fail."

His eyebrows shot up, and he gave the kyvet pointed look.

She smirked and touched his arm. "Animals respond to fear differently. Some run. Some fight." She shrugged. "This one fought."

He stared at the animal, not quite ready to believe this excuse. The scowl melted slowly while he thought it over, which would have to be victory enough.

Aylee slid another bead off the lanyard curled around her right wrist. She squeezed the sphere as it came to the stop on the end of the strand and felt the internal mechanisms spring. The beacon doubled in diameter as new sections swiveled into place, slid over the stop, and _blink-blinked_ an emerald light. _Tir-Zen could make a fortune selling these_ , she thought, and dropped the sphere at the corner of their latest turn.

She stepped into a small antechamber and frowned, turning as the light from her saber touched the walls on all sides.

"Master?" Tir-Zen rasped, as he and Anakin drew into line.

"The stonework is different here," Aylee said, a note of drifting wonder in her voice. She moved closer to the wall and brushed away some of the glowing mold with her sleeve for a better look.

Since they'd descended, the stone had been a gray granite, flecked with minerals that sparkled under intense light. But here... black panels, dull as slate. Only you can't build with slate. Decorative, maybe? Only who would decorate the inside of a sewer...

"Master..." Tee leaned in next to her, peering briefly at the wall, mostly at her. "Is this... significant?" he asked, trying to be delicate.

"Interesting," she muttered to herself.

He pressed his lips together. "Not what I asked."

Aylee glanced at him, her attention suddenly caught by his presence. The wheel spun backwards; her thoughts stumbled over what she'd heard. "What?"

Tee swiveled his lightsaber and rapped the hilt on the black matte stone. "Does it matter?" He grimaced a little while he waited for a reply, the strain of using the Force so constantly weighing on him.

"I—" Aylee frowned at the wall and stepped back, surveyed the room again with a creeping sensation of guilt. Strands of thought spun like webbing. Had she seen this before? Where? And when? _Does it matter?_ They spun too quickly, and she drew a breath, bringing her focus to the sensation of air flowing into her nostrils. And out again. "Sorry... I—I guess not... It was just..."

"Interesting," Tir-Zen supplied, smirking.

She couldn't let it go. "We're in a new section. Maybe a different building. It's hard to say. I should be keeping record of this. Who knows the last time anyone was down here?"

Tee turned in a small circle, holding his blade up high for a better look. The tattoos on his face warped with a doubtful frown. "I think if Coruscant wanted to remember, it would have," he said, and turned to face his master.

Aylee tipped her head to the side, regarding him. "Forgetting is easy," she said, intending to go on, but Anakin's young voice filled her pause.

"Not always." He looked at her with steady eyes, black as pitch, glistening like a beetle shell.

A different sort of guilt slipped around Aylee's throat as she remembered. Raised a slave. Torn from his mother. She swallowed.

"Easy for civilizations," she amended, gentling her voice. "Galaxies, governments. Not people. Not anything with a soul. The Living Force always remembers."

Anakin's dark eyes drank her in for a moment while a dizzying intensity of Force whirled within him. She felt his gaze cut to her spine, but then he blinked and looked away, nodding to himself more than to either of them.

The tension around Aylee's throat eased, and she wondered how Obi-Wan could stand it, living every day so close to such a geyser. Sometimes he seemed like an ordinary boy. Sometimes like something else entirely.

Anakin motioned to a doorway ahead of them, cut lower and more narrow than any they'd found so far. "We should go this way."

Of the three of them, only Tir-Zen had to duck. And beyond the small door, the passage opened twice as wide as the previous hall. The slate sipped the light from their sabers, obscuring the walls, throwing the ceiling so far beyond their sight it could have been the sky.

Aylee felt her own smallness and let a bit of Force into her limbs for the comfort of its presence. They huddled together in the center, moving as though the walls had claws.

"I don't like this," Tir-Zen whispered, his voice carrying through the dead dark.

Anakin swept his hand around like a radar, seeking the lost lightsaber's location. "More to the left," he said, small and hushed, mimicking Tee. His steps quickened. "It's close. I know it is."

"Anakin!" Aylee hissed as he pulled ahead.

There was nothing to see. No walls, no edges. A tunnel of dark, eternity's cold fist. She drifted to the left. And the quality of the darkness changed.

She stopped dead. "Anakin, _stop_!"

"What?" the boy squeaked out the word, and his lightsaber froze.

Aylee scanned, turning her eyes askance, searching for shadows among shadows. "Come back here and turn off your sabers," she said.

"What?" Tee this time, sounding harsh with alarm.

Aylee cut hers and gripped the hilt hard. The ghost of the blade's light pulsed in her vision in time with her heart, but it faded. Faded...

"Master..."

"Shh..."

She couldn't think with him talking. Couldn't concentrate on the blackness behind her eyelids and the blackness of this tomb. It was subtle. But it _was_ different.

"Anakin, give me your hand. Grab Tee."

They linked, and Aylee led them forward toward the lesser shadow, feeling like a daring fool. She snapped her saber to her belt and walked with one hand out, so at least if they hit a wall she might do so with something other than her nose.

A sharp line cut the shadow.

A line like... a corner. Like a wall. It shifted as they moved and revealed, like a Correllian tableau, a distant dancing ball of flame, the shapes of men and aliens, and squares like the light had been cut from reality.

"What. Is that?" Anakin breathed.

Aylee released his hand. "That... is a camp."

"Yeah, but whose?"

Tir-Zen touched Aylee's elbow as he came close. "Master... how are these people down here?"

"I don't know."

" _Alive._ "

"I don't know..."

The kyvets should have been able to find a heat source like that with ease. Any camp should have been decimated by them. Too many questions...

"The lightsaber. Straight ahead?" Aylee asked.

After a moment, "Yes."

Well. Convenient. Perhaps they could get some answers. "Follow me. Stay close."

They slipped through the silent darkness like mynocks on the hunt. The closer they got, the more the glow of the campfire revealed. Humans, zabracks, a few splendid cathars, nosaurians—if those were indeed crests—twi'leks, and at least one wookiee. And those were the ones who passed between them and the firelight, casting silhouettes.

The squares took on shape and dimension. Crates. Boxes. Shipped goods, Aylee realized. She stopped and knelt, spreading her arms to catch the padawans before they overtook her position. She gripped whatever came into contact, and they knelt.

"Smugglers, I think," she whispered. "The only people who'd need the cover of the catacombs."

"What do we do?" Anakin asked, eagerness and alarm making his whisper strained.

She considered. They hadn't come looking for a band of criminals. "You two hang back. Hide behind the crates."

"What are you going to do?" Tee asked.

Aylee smirked and shrugged. "I'm going to ask for the lightsaber back."

Arms held low. Palms forward. Aylee stepped with measured precision toward the encampment. She could see many of them, milling around in silhouette or illuminated in gold on the far side of the flames. She made her approach slow, but also silent. Drama could work in her favor.

She watched one of the humans relaxing on a crate opposite her approach. Step. Watched him laugh. Step. Watched him take a drink from a bottle. Step. Watched a frown form across his face.

Her clothing caught the light from the fire at last, reflecting like liquid gold.

Step.

The human pointed, and Aylee came full into the glow of their fire.

"D'lan!" someone shouted, and the whole camp turned, bearing blasters.

Aylee stopped, breathing light and calm, letting her gaze pass over each with curious interest. A cathar heavy with muscle and a thick, black mane rose slowly to his feet and turned. He wore a leather vest and matching knee-length pants, leaving his limbs exposed, seemingly oblivious to the cold. He did not bother to raise a weapon, instead cocking his head. Behind him, his men shuffled for a better view and easier aim. The cathar crossed his furred arms.

"You must have a death wish," he said, in a rumble of a voice.

He was too backlit to make out his features, but Aylee lifted her chin anyway and gazed as though she could meet his eyes.

"You have something that doesn't belong to you," she said evenly. "I want it back."

A scuffle of laugher rippled through the smugglers, and D'lan took a swaggering step forward, the pads of his feet silent on the stone.

"That's not _exactly_ the business we're in..." he said, adding a smile that showed thick fangs.

Aylee's pulse beat a little faster, and she kept her eyes locked. A twitch of her wrist brought her lightsaber to her hand, and it came to life with the unmistakable buzz of the plasma blade. Golden light flared, and the tip of the blade almost touched the ground.

To their credit, none of the smugglers fired out of reflex. But a murmur.. _Jedi_... filled the air and blasters started to quiver.

"Allow me to clarify," Aylee said, her tone steel and heart thudding. She could see the cathar's eyes now, slitted, narrowed, and reflecting green. "You have a lightsaber. I want it back."

 _"Jedi!"_ A desperate voice drew Aylee's attention. _"Jedi, help me!"_

She found the source of the screams as the wookiee kicked at a metal cage and bellowed. Inside, a creature jerked back. It was barely visible between the shadows and bars, but she could make out a thin, angular snout with tendrils like a beard. A dug, likely. For a moment, Aylee's blood froze solid as she stared and new understanding dawned.

Not just smugglers.

 _Slavers_.

Outrage boiled from her core, flooding her limbs, melting the ice. Slavers on Coruscant! She glared at the wookiee until he felt the heat of it and met her eyes.

"Do that again and I'll break your leg," she told him, measuring the words like sharpening a knife. The pirates must have thought it was funny, a small woman threatening the largest among them. They laughed and chided their companion. Goaded him to action.

The leader, though. The cathar. He very slowly uncrossed his arms, watching her.

Aylee had not moved. Her arms still hung at her sides, saber aimed to the floor. She looked open. Vulnerable.

And yet, the air thinned and drew taut.

She watched the wookiee as though he moved in slow motion. Shifting his weight. Lifting one foot. He stared at her as he kicked the cage a second time.

Aylee curled the fingers of her left hand and reached with the Force. Faster than thought, she snagged his leg while it was still in the air from the blow. The whole group hushed when they realized the wookiee wasn't playing around. He jerked and beat one fist on his own leg, to make it move. Aylee lifted him up slowly until his other foot left the floor, giving him all the time in the world to struggle for a way free. His balance suddenly gone, he fell backward, dropping his gun as his arms pinwheeled.

Several things happened at once.

The wookiee's femur snapped audibly.

D'lan went for his gun.

And the slavers regained themselves and opened fire.

Distracted by their comrade's howls, many of the shots went wide. Aylee slid between others and swung her blade with simple, effortless deflections. At the eruption, Tir-Zen and Anakin sailed out of the darkness, arcing with forward dives and landing swords ablaze.

Tir-Zen threw a wide push, knocking several from their feet. He scattered embers from the campfire in a burning cloud, sending more to their knees with pained screams.

A nosaurian in heavy armor barreled for Aylee's midsection. She danced aside, sliced off his crests, and kicked him in the back with enough added Force to crack his armor. Maybe his spine.

Anakin landed, looked up, and saw the barrel of D'lan's blaster. The cathar fired, and Anakin's saber was already in motion. He batted the blast back. It struck D'lan in the shoulder, a heavy enough blow to make him stumble as his skin seared and bone shattered. Anakin threw a Force push to knock him down and then leapt at him. He delivered a swift, aided kick launching the slaver over onto his face and snatched Obi-Wan's lightsaber from the back of D'lan's belt.

"Got it!" Anakin shouted, holding it up in triumph.

Aylee turned.

So did their foes.

Blasts from every pistol shot Anakin's way.

Aylee threw up her hand, shaping a gout of power. The blasts froze. They hung in mid-air, quivering sticks of light like decoration. Her heart beat. And the bolts shot back, scattering in the direction they'd come like flung knives. Several slavers went down silently. A few had the luxury of a scream. Many just stared, struck dumb by what they'd just seen. What no one would believe.

Even Tir-Zen and Anakin paused as a chill breath passed over the field of battle.

"You don't _have_ to die today!" Aylee shouted, slowly straightening as she checked the space around herself. She met the eyes of many of their foes, terrified into stillness. Some snarled, defiant, but dropped their guns. They were, apparently, useless anyway.

"Anakin," Aylee said, her attention still moving from body to body. "Open the cage."

Anakin tossed Aylee his master's lightsaber and dug the heel of his boot into D'lan's back as he walked over him. No small amount of disgust twisted on his face. The cathar growled but dared not move. Anakin struck the lock from the cage with a swing from his saber and crouched to open the door. He stashed his weapon on his belt and reached in, offering his hands.

"C'mon. It's okay..."

The dug wheezed at him and lurched forward, stumbling over the lip of the bars. One eye was swelled shut, and he held a gripping arm at an odd angle.

Anakin glanced over his shoulder. "He looks hurt," he said.

Aylee nudged an unmoving body with her foot. "Can you carry him?"

Anakin studied the shuddering dug, frowning. "Hi," he said, and offered his hand. "I'm Anakin."

"I-Ithiko," the dug whispered.

Anakin shuffled back to give him room and turned around. He looked back. "If you can hold on, I can carry you," he said, sounding sure and grave.

While they figured out the best configuration for dug physiology, Aylee and Tee rounded up the living, including the wookiee. They sliced blasters in half and seared off weapon belts. The wookiee moaned as he put weight on his busted leg and howled in protest when Aylee cut his bowcaster into several pieces.

Aylee paced out in front of them, while Tir-Zen stood guard to the side.

"Since you're still alive," she told them, voice hard, "you're under arrest." She eyed them each in turn. "If you try anything—"

A flicker of movement.

Something glinted. Tir-Zen's green blade swept the air. And a twi'lek's blue arm thudded to the ground several feet from the rest of his body, the hand still holding a knife. He stared for a moment at the sizzling stump, stunned before screaming and collapsing to his knees. His comrades jumped and edged away from Tee's blade.

Tir-Zen put his back to the campfire and brought his saber up close to his face so they could all see him, illuminated in green. He snarled, twisting his tattoos into a monstrous mask.

"Well," Aylee said, regaining their attention. "You get the idea."

D'lan's chest rumbled with a growl, and his leonine lips twitched. "You didn't have to cut off his arm..." He pressed a clawed hand to his bleeding shoulder and breathed heavily through the pain.

Aylee stepped closer, regarding him with cool interest. These people meant something to him. His position as their leader meant something to him... "You want mercy?" she asked, watching for a reaction. "You're still alive, D'lan Cathar Slaver."

His eyes narrowed, but he did not object to the naming as traditional by his people.

The twi'lek's horrified screams made Aylee flinch, and she turned away to hide the break in that perfect Jedi armor. They could dull the pain, but that did nothing for the terror of losing a piece of oneself. Of leaving it on the floor, discarded meat. A shudder skittered across Aylee's shoulders, and she pulled a small vial from a pouch on her belt.

"Tee." She tossed it to him and gestured at the wailing man, who cradled his arm against his chest. First-aid anesthetic. Tir-Zen administered it with a jab to the neck, and the twi'lek's cries dulled to desperate moans.

Aylee glanced at D'lan. He snorted and looked away. Something in his derision had the aura of truth, and it bothered her that a criminal held such an advantage. That he'd made her _see_ it.

The sooner they were out of these catacombs the better. This trip had already become far more than she'd bargained for. Though a success, despite.

She swept her lightsaber in an arc and pointed in the direction she and the padawans had come.

"All right, let's—"

A howl rolled over her words, echoing in her stomach and settling in her joints. She shot Tee a look, and his eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, Master, I—I was distracted." He stepped back from the prisoners and bowed his head, working up a new Bane.

D'lan turned in place, staring into the cavern as the kyvet calls built on one another, a growing wave that sounded like echoes, though nothing echoed here. The numbers simply grew. He fixed Aylee with a look.

"I hope you have a plan to keep us from being eaten," he growled.

Another challenge. Aylee stepped up close, tipping her head back to meet his gaze. They were unbound, all of them. He could have struck out, if he dared. He towered, and if not for the Force at her back, flowing across her fingers, she might have been afraid.

"I do... Why, what's yours?" Real curiosity. She'd wondered how they'd made a camp in such inhospitable territory.

The needy cries of hungry kyvets lingered, and the cathar tipped his shaggy head toward one of the nosaurians watching with anxious eyes.

"Kyvets don't like their spit. Or the light from their maws."

The nosaurian smirked. They were guard dogs. Interesting.

Aylee flicked her gaze back to D'lan. "I'll keep that in mind," she told him, coolly dismissive. He scowled, and she could feel the heat of his gaze as she paced away. She glanced at Tir-Zen, and he adjusted his shoulders and nodded.

"All right. Anakin, you stay back with Tir-Zen. The rest of you are going to follow me. _Assume_ I have eyes in the back of my head." She cast imperious looks at each of them—many shrank away—then turned on her heel and started into the darkness with her lightsaber held high above her head.

Their minds were largely unguarded, and Aylee could pick up scents of emotions from their captives. It helped her keep count and gauge that they were, in fact, following. That and the sound of their treads. Their leader, D'lan, kept himself under closer wraps, despite following only a pace or two behind.

Aylee opened her left hand and drew a yellow beacon into it as they passed. She slid it onto the strand around her right wrist, compressed it, and let the workings draw it back to its place with a click.

"We're going the long way," D'lan rumbled eventually. He'd been working up to it for some time, with his heavy breathing and heavier silences.

"Probably," Aylee agreed, not slowing her step. "But let me guess. You know a short cut."

"I do..."

She smirked. "I'll pass."

He snorted.

"Wouldn't you if you were me?" she asked. "I know there are no traps this way."

"You could make me lead," he said, purring so she could hear the smirk.

Aylee pressed her lips together. "You talk a lot for a captive."

He shrugged, leather vest squelching from the motion, voice low and brushing soft. "Charm is part of the business."

Aylee stopped and turned on her heel. D'lan jerked back, eyes wide and darkening as she moved the lightsaber closer, bringing the tip to his chin. "I don't like your business."

He swallowed visibly and studied her face. "Doesn't mean you can't like me," he purred, offering a gleaming smile that hid most of his fangs.

She narrowed her eyes."I think it does."

He blinked slowly, and she withdrew the blade with an audible whirr.

When the reached the ladder, Aylee sent her lightsaber up the shaft and let it spin in a lazy, deadly disc. She climbed. They climbed. No one much spoke.

It was bound to happen once, eventually. They'd all been thinking about it. Making a break. Attacking. Running. Even D'lan had let slip the contemplation of it. When they passed by an open doorway in a curving hall, Aylee felt the spike of fear and flicker of thought a second before she heard the sucking splash of boots in the muck.

"Hey!" she whirled.

"No!" D'lan turned with her and lunged for his crew.

Aylee caught the fleeing form without seeing and flung the body back into the hall, back into the light. His skull rapped against the stones, eliciting a cry of pain, and Aylee pulled him near with the grip of the Force until she could curl her fist into his coat. Another cathar. He blinked dazed eyes and froze as he felt the heat of a lightsaber under his throat.

Aylee waited, letting him sweat. No one breathed. D'lan stretched one hand in their direction, hovering and tense with fear.

"I have no patience for slavers," she said, dropping each word like obsidian knives. "Try that again and I'll break your bones against the wall and leave you for kyvet food. Understood?"

He didn't dare nod for the closeness of the blade, but she took his unsteady breath for assent.

She shoved him back, and D'lan darted in close, grabbing the other cathar by the arm. "Joori, they're _Jedi_ ," he growled, shaking his crewman hard. "Judge, jury, and executioner." D'lan leveled a look Aylee's way, glinting of hate. "Don't give them a reason."

He ushered Joori behind him, and Aylee again turned to hide the unease churning in her stomach. Accusations she couldn't quite deny. If anyone knew the history of the Order, she knew.

She carried on in silence, with the weight of a slaver's judgment weighing on her thoughts. They reached the Crimson without further violence, and the air felt light and clean by comparison. Aylee, Tee, and Anakin formed a triangle around their captives, while Aylee called in the proper city authorities and an ambulance for the dug.

The ambulance arrived first, barely distinguishable from the flashing lights that filled the Crimson's main drag. Anakin trotted over to the waiting medical droids and carefully disentangled himself. While he spoke to the droids, the police arrived with a wagon and an armed contingent.

Aylee stashed her lightsaber as the slavers stumbled toward the waiting wagon. She glanced down as Anakin paced to her side.

"Will he be okay?" the boy asked, turning to watch the ambulance lift into the air.

"Probably," she said. "If they beat him up too badly he wouldn't have been any good to sell."

Anakin made no reply to that, and Aylee glanced over at him, wondering at his thoughts. He watched the slavers being loaded into the wagon, a dark expression on his face. He clenched his fists at his sides until they shook, and the Force within him churned like stormy seas. D'lan turned to them, as though he could feel it, and locked gazes with Aylee as he stepped up and in.

Aylee put her hand on Anakin's shoulder. "You did well today," she said.

The boy's eyes narrowed, and D'lan stumbled into the wagon with a startled cry of pain.

"Thank you, master," Anakin said, toneless.

Tir-Zen monitored the last of the prisoner transfer and then hustled over to join them. He sighed and rubbed at his neck. "That was an adventure."

A smile touched Aylee's lips. "You stink," she told him.

He grimaced. "Thanks. You, too."

Aylee touched a hand to both their backs and ushered them toward the location where their taxi agreed to pick the up. For hazard pay. "C'mon. The Temple's got hot showers waiting for us."


	14. Awakening

**OBI-WAN**

Obi-Wan woke up—which was, after ponderously slow deliberation, rather surprising. And shockingly uncomfortable. His eyelids opened slowly, like they'd forgotten how, and they _hurt,_ a simultaneously distressing and foreboding discovery. He gathered the presence of mind to glance around first, taking in the bright, floral-festooned medical bay and the patch of sunlight hitting the wall. A machine beeped lowly to his heartbeat; and he was alone.

His whole body felt crushed, weighed and aching by its very existence. Breathing was a labor, articulating every muscle and rib. The air smelled a headache riot of scents. Obi-Wan summoned a bit of courage and shifted, trying to sit up higher and get a look at his arm. He remembered the break and exposed bone with a churning shudder. Chest, shoulder, arm, moved in that order, protesting loudly. His bones were made of metal, muscles from acid and fire. He clenched his jaw and pulled his forearm into view.

It was a map of blue and green bruising, but whole. Skin unbroken. How long had he been out?

With glacial effort, he sat himself up, shifting his legs. Pain lanced up one thigh, stealing his breath, and he dropped back against the elevated mattress from the shock. The panting made several things clear, the most notable being his mouth felt like sand and tasted like old mushrooms. He made a face and reached for the table by the bed automatically, pressing through the air like it resisted him, searching for water.

He glanced over to find his target.

Paused.

And stared.

Sitting on the near side of the table, alignment perfectly straight to the edge, was his lightsaber.

Obi-Wan frowned and swallowed hard, forgetting the water.

That couldn't be right...

He remembered... having it when the creature bit his arm. The teeth cutting his tendons, hand going limp, and then it was just gone. He'd lost it when the world thrashed all directions. He remembered that much.

His fingers touched the cool metal, jerking slightly when they made contact. He picked it up, mind too full of questions to complete a thought, and slowly brought it closer for inspection. It looked like his. Felt like his...

The door shucked open.

"Master!" And Anakin exploded into the room.

Obi-Wan looked over in time to open one aching arm before the boy launched himself at him. Anakin crushed him into a hug, briefly pressing his face into the crook of Obi-Wan's shoulder and swaddling his face with soft layers from his cloak.

A painful chuckle jostled Obi-Wan's ribs. "All right," he said, warmed by the sudden display, and patted Anakin on the back. The boy's body wracked with a broken inhale, and he squeezed Obi-Wan a little harder, eliciting a gasp of pain and an urgent, "All right, it's all right."

When Anakin pulled back, his face was red with the effort to control his emotions. He beamed ear to ear, and Obi-Wan couldn't fight the swell of affection in his chest. He grinned, embarrassed by his padawan's relief, by his own.

"It's—" Anakin's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "It's good to see you, Master," he said, though his eyes shown with something that put "good" to shame.

Obi-Wan huffed. "You, too," he said, the words coming out rougher than he would have thought, as he remembered just how on the edge of impossible a moment like this had seemed while trapped down in the dark. He should be dead, by all rights and logic. "How long have I been here?" he asked, glancing around at the flower shop of a room.

"Almost a week..."

A week! A week of Anakin unsupervised around the Temple... Obi-Wan's gut clenched in alarm.

It must have shown on his face, because Anakin hurried on.

"I've been going to my classes! I swear! And making videos for the festival... Everything you'd want me to do. I didn't break _anything_."

"Or—"

" _Or_ disassemble anything..." Anakin rolled his eyes a little, but then waited with bated breath, leaning into the moment with nothing short of hope.

He'd been making special effort in Obi-Wan's absence. A more superstitious person might suspect it a kind of bargain with a higher power. Perfect behavior in exchange for a perfect outcome.

Obi-Wan inclined his head little toward him, that affection humming at his throat. "Thank you," he said. For your thoughts. For your efforts.

Anakin sighed in relief, his whole body relaxing as he started to move around the room, talking as he paced.

"We worked on the big droid."

"We?" Obi-Wan followed him with his eyes, a wave of exhaustion pulling him into the mattress.

"Tee," Anakin answered with a glance. "He's been helping me with wiring. Did you know he has implants in his fingers!"

"No, I—"

"It's so cool! He can feel the electrical fields!"

"That's—"

Anakin stopped and turned toward him sharply. "I'm _definitely_ getting that," he said, before spinning off in another direction.

Obi-Wan fought against a smirk. If anyone had tried to tell him he'd take great comfort one day in Anakin's rambling...

"We'll talk about it," he countered gently.

Anakin's recap of his festival planning smudged into a single sound Obi-Wan had difficulty following as the aches in his body called for rest. He felt himself start to drift and his grip on the lightsaber in his lap slacken.

The door to his room opened with a startling whoosh, and Obi-Wan jerked back to waking. Anakin fell silent as Aylee stood motionless in the doorway, wide-eyed and staring. Obi-Wan met her gaze, his heart fluttering at the memory of those dark eyes so close, so impossible he might have dreamed it. He remember the relief, cool and splashing across fevered skin. _Saved._

She stepped into the room, measured and drinking him in. Anakin glanced between them as he slipped toward the door, moving like a shadow. Pressure pounded beneath Obi-Wan's skin as she came to the foot of the bed. Stopped. Bore into him with a shifting look of troubled tenderness.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, forcing a light tone.

He grinned a little, a wry twist to his lips. "Alive."

She smiled at that and shook her head, looking away toward the window to try to hide a scowl. Her chest rose and fell like a rising tide, crashing more furiously with each second.

"What were you doing down there?" she asked, turning back to spear him with a look.

"Trying to track down some bandits."

She crossed her arms and cocked her head. "Bandits."

"Pirates. Slavers. They were extorting the Crimson, took Bax's mate—"

"So you went down there."

"Yes."

"Alone."

"Yes..." He got the distinct feeling of a man sliding down a hill—a drop in his stomach.

Her head shook slightly in disbelief. "With kyvets. _Venemous_ kyvets."

"I... I didn't want to risk Anakin," he said, the words feeling thin and withered as he said them.

Aylee stared and, as the moment dragged out, started to tremble. "Do you have _any_ idea how stupid... how... _reckless_!" She spit the word, turned away, turned back, not knowing what to do with herself. "You didn't think to ask me?" She curled her hand toward her breastbone, eyes glassy with hurt. "Did you think I'd say no?"

Obi-Wan frowned. "I—"

"Didn't think I'd be of any use?" she offered, indignation twisting her features and stoking her tone. "Because I'm what? Just an _archvist?_ " Her voice rose with the heat of anger, color deepened. "Only good for... for turning pages and reading books?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You almost _died!_ "

He flinched from the slap of her bellow. Aylee whirled from him in a hurricane of flapping cloak and whipping hair. In dumb shock, he stared as she stormed away, leaving a hollow silence in her wake.

Obi-Wan drew an unsteady breath, drawing guilt and shame in with it. He realized with a sinking feeling that they'd just fought; they'd never fought before. It left him feeling small, isolated. And... she wasn't wrong...

He _had_ been reckless. And it had almost cost him everything.

The door opened again, and Anakin stuck his head around the corner, looking sheepish. He slunk into the room and sat himself quietly on one of the visitor's chairs, glancing up with caution. He'd overheard, of course.

Obi-Wan lifted the lightsaber up and turned it over in his hands, concentrating on the weight and texture. Avoiding his padawan's gaze.

"She's angry cause she was afraid for you," Anakin said quietly.

Obi-Wan's hands came to a stop. He looked over. "She's a Jedi Master."

"And..." Anakin said pointedly, "she was afraid for you. She was in here all the time." He looked down at his hands, playing with them inside his sleeves. "You'd have died."

"I know."

"No..." The boy shook his head. "You weren't getting better."

Obi-Wan set the saber hilt down in his lap, watching Anakin fidget. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "The droids missed it, at first. You got worse. Were..." Another shrug.

"Dying..."

Anakin nodded. "She knew. She did... something. I don't know. With the Force." He looked up then, the child Obi-Wan had adopted. "You threw up black goo. It was gross."

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow.

"But... you started getting better after that."

Obi-Wan sank back, staring up at the ceiling. "Saved me twice over," he said, mostly to himself.

Could a body ache with gratitude as much as with pain?

He picked up the saber with his right hand, fingers and palm slotting into place over worn patches of metal.

"And this?" he asked, curious but feeling he knew the depth of the answer already—the tally of his debts climbing.

Anakin grinned and puffed his chest. "We got it back for you," he said. "The three of us."

He should have been angry that Aylee had taken _his_ padawan into danger, the Chosen One into danger, but he could not summon the energy for it.

"But how?"

"She taught me to find things... familiar things." Anakin sat up straighter, his face lighting up. "We had to fight slavers!"

"What?"

"They had it. I took us right to them! And, and they had a captive—"

"Ithiko!"

Anakin gave him a look and blinked. "H-how did you know?"

"That's why I was there. Looking for him... You..." He huffed, shaking his head. "You finished my mission for me."

" _And_ arrested slavers." Anakin looked fierce for a moment and hopped out of his chair in agitation.

"You did a fine job," Obi-Wan told him, wary of that look on so young a face. "Better than me."

Anakin paused in his pacing and smiled a little, preening at the praise. He stood beneath the drooping red petals of Iridonian orchid.

"And what about all these?" Obi-Wan gestured around the room at the strange assortment of flowers and plants.

Anakin sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "She wouldn't stop sending them."

"Who?"

"Shemba the Hutt."

Obi-Wan blinked at his padawan once and dropped his head back on the pillow. He couldn't even venture what that boded and felt what little energy he had left fleeing his body at the prospect of trying. Anakin was silent for a second, then announced his schedule for the day and took his leave so he wouldn't be late. Obi-Wan sighed at the sudden emptiness and replayed Aylee's visit over and over. It wasn't the encounter he'd expected—kind words and gentle touches. But it was, perhaps, the one he'd earned.

 **AYLEE**

The caf had long since cooled, but Aylee reached for the cup anyway, a mindless reflex as she turned a page in a delicate journal. The laid leaf paper crinkled as it flexed, but it did not break. She sighed, taking a cold and bitter sip, and scanned the page. She'd set aside the day's grading hours ago. One can only read the same wrong choices, the same cliché arguments, the same disappointing conclusions before it starts to make you doubt the future.

Classroom, dining hall, apartment. A neat triangle, a set routine. Nothing interrupted her set routine, and she made caf like clockwork.

The interior lights drifted on as the sun set. She slowed her scan and read a passage in more detail, frowning and squinting to decipher the handwriting.

Something in the Force moved. A light rustle of wind through leaves.

She tried not to think about it. Not to think about a number of things.

Blue eyes.

Blood. _Drip, dripping._

Her neck twitched; the chime on the door rang, inevitable as falling, because she _knew_. She didn't have friends. Didn't get visitors.

A stone weighed in her chest. "Yes?" She stared at the page, tracing the fibers of the leaves.

"It's me..." Amber warm. Soft and plaintive. "May I come in?"

Aylee's shoulders tensed, the echoed memory of her rage flashing through her, hardening to righteousness. One could only avoid for so long. She waved her hand in the direction of the door panel, tossing a bit of Force to open it, and kept her gaze down as the door slid open.

He took a few odd sounding steps into the room and paused.

Aylee did not look up.

"It's been a few days..." Obi-Wan said, cautious.

Aylee stared at the open book, bringing all her focus to the shape of the script, the slant of the serifs. "I've been busy," she said, not looking at him, but feeling the heat of his gaze.

If she looked up, she'd have to see his face. She'd see his eyes, radiant and kind. The mark on his cheek. The beard he kept meticulously trimmed that'd felt soft against the backs of her fingers. She couldn't recall when it happened—when his face went from something familiar to something dear. When she'd tripped and got caught instead of hitting the mud like always.

She resisted the pull to look. If she looked, she wouldn't be angry anymore. If she looked, she'd forgive him anything.

He moved closer, and his gate betrayed a limp.

Aylee felt a flash of heat to her cheeks and closed the book in resignation. It was petty to make him limp the whole way. She stood, lifting her gaze, and he stopped, trying on a small, careful smile as she came around her desk and met him in the empty middle, an arm's length away. She crossed her arms over her chest, gathering her annoyance. _You were stupid. Foolish._

It should have come through in a glare. And yet, and yet...

Blue eyes. Hopeful, earnest. _Damn_ him...

Obi-Wan looked down and swallowed. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.

"Anakin said you were angry because you were scared," he offered lightly, pitching it with a twist of humor. The imagination of children, they could say. A padawan's lark.

He was giving her an out, if she wanted to take it. Aylee's resentment melted like she knew it would, a patchwork dam constantly failing. She gave up resisting, spackling anger into every crack. She did not _want_ anger, though it felt like the only thing strong enough.

"You almost died," she said, letting her arms fall, a few pebbles roll free.

He nodded. "So I'm told."

Aylee shook her head, smiling a little without humor. "You don't understand..." She could feel the edge coming. The event horizon. Stop now and she could turn away. Stop now and save them both. Stop now or tell him everything. He frowned a little, waiting for her to go on.

Turn away or dive.

She could not turn away.

Her sternum ached from a gush of emotion and memory. Sought form in words. "I could feel your suffering from something as simple as a nightmare," she said, touching the space over her heart. "And suddenly you were _dying_." Her voice cracked over the word and composure crumbled. She looked away for a moment trying to stop it. Fight it. But the tears built and tumbled over, boiled from her core where she'd held it so tightly. She looked at him through a blur of tears. "I was _feeling_ you _dying_!" Each word punctuated by a wrack of her body. "Going dark, piece by piece. Scared?" She laughed over sobs, her control spinning out and the torrent coming, crashing. "I was terrified!"

She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to hold it in, staunch the flow that crushed, whitewater and drowning. She looked aside because he should not see this, not witness so complete a failure of a Jedi's way.

Obi-Wan stared at her a second, a breathless terrible second, before he limped closer and slid his arms around her, cloak enfolding them both. Sure and solid, fitting where the fissures seemed deepest somehow. He brought heat and light, the warmed opening of sunlight on your face. The slow enveloping of a hearthfire after an absence in space. She pressed her face to his chest, felt his cheek nestle against her hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She could hear the strain in it as her emotions bled into him, bringing him to the edge of tears himself. "I'm sorry..."

He rocked gently, an instinct so human it could not be scoured away, squeezing while Aylee tumbled under the waves. Fear. Relief. Exhaustion. In all the wrong order, chaotic in their freedom. A shuddered breath, fingers tight in his shirt, and she felt the tide receding. It rolled back, leaving her empty. Cleansed of all the things she'd locked away since the first stab of transferred pain. She sniffed, rubbing her cheek against the thick fabric of his tabard, and slowly drew back, reluctant.

Obi-Wan kept a hand lightly on her waist longer than needful and brushed a lock of hair out of her face as he let her go. Her skin burned, and she retreated to a safe distance as she dabbed at her eyes, watching him for some sign. Perhaps some judgment, but none came, and her heart ached with wonder at that constant charity.

Instead, he looked troubled and glanced down to gather his thoughts. "I've... felt... strange the last few days. Like... I'm smaller. Or the galaxy is bigger. I don't—" He scowled and touched his temples. "I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense." He took a breath and tried again, meeting her eyes. "Something is missing. Some... sense I don't recall having."

Aylee frowned and leaned against the edge of her desk at her back. "Can you describe it?"

He shrugged, looking perplexed. "There were times... when I was frustrated with Anakin or the Council... when I would have this feeling of cool water. This calming. Helping me keep my emotions in check. Like the Force was aiding me."

An icicle dropped through Aylee's gut, and she came up to standing, stepping closer, shoulders tight. "What was the last time you felt it?"

Obi-Wan frowned in thought. "Five... days ago?"

"Early afternoon," Aylee said, her voice light and thunderstruck. She turned away, shaking her head. Because of course. Of _course_ it was him.

"Aylee..."

She faced him, wanting to laugh. "Some days I would feel this... disturbance in the Force. Something prickling with too much energy. Too loud to ignore. And I'd reach for it, send it nonsense words like soothing a frightened animal. And it would ease. The buzzing stopped. The agitation dissipated."

Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide, his expression stunned. "It was you."

She nodded.

A frown slowly clouded over his features, and he shook his head. "First the dreams. This. The catacombs... What's going on? This isn't normal..."

No... It wasn't.

Aylee stepped back toward her desk until she bumped into it and turned her attention to the artifacts of her research scattered there. It meant she could avoid his gaze, the worry on his face.

"I think..." she said carefully, reaching out to touch a datapad, then a holocron cask. "The best translation I have is it's a Force bond." She tapped the cask, so it opened slowly, blooming with blue light like a filigreed flower.

Obi-Wan moved closer, drawing her attention with a hiss of breath as he put weight on his injured leg. "That sounds like something I should have heard of," he said.

She nodded and tapped the holocron closed, gathering her courage. "It's something we all should have heard of," she said, her voice dropping low as she met his eyes. "It's taken me weeks, and the most I've found are some vague references in personal accounts."

"There's nothing in the Archives?"

A bitter smile. "Precisely nothing." Obi-Wan frowned, but he didn't understand. Aylee pressed the point, needing him to see. "I mean strangely blank. A gap exactly the size and shape of these words." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you understand?"

"You..."—he tilted his head, watching her carefully—"think it's been erased."

"I do."

"But why?"

She shrugged. "Here's what I can tell you. The only references I've found have been in personal journals. Paper books. Archives kept in dead languages. Things..." She lifted the frond-leaf book she'd been reading and held it up for his inspection. "...that aren't easily erased."

Obi-Wan scowled, scanning the floor for a moment. "That's a heavy accusation," he said.

"I know."

"But again, why?"

"To keep it a secret?"

"But _why?_ Why keep this, whatever this is, a secret?"

Aylee shrugged, helpless in the face of all the right questions. "I don't know. But I don't know what else it could be. You... turn up at the perfect time. When I'm supposed to bring a new world into the Republic. When I need calm and focus and a new perspective. I felt your pain when you were hurt and followed your presence into the catacombs like a beacon, like following a thread."

"In the dreams, you felt my emotions, even at a distance."

"It's _not_ normal. And... I think the healing I did could have made it stronger just... by the sheer mechanics of it."

"So," Obi-Wan crossed his arms into his sleeves and hunched his shoulders, burrowing in, "what do we do? What can we do?"

"You mean powers?"

He nodded, mouth drawn and serious.

Aylee shrugged. "Experiment? There aren't any instructions."

He watched silently for a second. The light in the room seemed too bright, too exposing for whispered words of conspiracies. Aylee moved her fingers, dimming and warming the lights. Obi-Wan glanced up and around them, a small smile touching his lips.

"All right," he said.

Aylee blinked. "All right what?"

"All right let's experiment."

Startled, she laughed. She hadn't meant _now_. But then, why not now? She shrugged, giving in with no fight at all, and gestured toward the floor next to her bed. She'd brought a rug from her quarters on Ossus, a gift from a companion who believed it was always a better morning if you avoided cold toes. Aylee fetched some dense pillows and dropped one near the foot of the bed. They were large and heavy enough it took two hands. She set the second down, swiping dust from the top, and Obi-Wan touched her hand as she stood.

She froze, staring at the point of contact. Heat rushed up her arm, and she felt it pulse in her cheeks. He chuckled, and she glanced at him, transfixed by the glow of humor.

"Thank you for saving my life," he said, soft and sweet. "Twice." He smirked and let her fingers go, well aware of what he was doing.

Aylee ducked and smiled, trying to hide the blush. Damn him for being sweet. And . . . tactile. She sat on her pillow, crossing her legs, and Obi-Wan followed suit, grinning mischievously.

She scowled at him, flexing the hand he'd touched. "Stop."

His eyes sparkled with innocence. "Sorry."

Lies. But the best of lies.

Aylee adjusted her shoulders and tried to think of where to start. How to start.

"How much do you know about Force Mechanics?"

Obi-Wan regarded her seriously, then, an attentive student. "Not much. I'd say my experience is more..." He lifted one shoulder. "Practical."

Nodding, Aylee drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, centering herself. She might not teach Force Mechanics in classes, but Belami had believed that if you were going to lean on something so heavily, one should know how it worked. "When we manipulate objects with the Force, we use an extension of the Living Force within us to reach out and touch physical space. We gather energy out of the ambient Force, Cosmic Force, and bend it to our intention. Like... when you make a whirlpool underwater." She twirled a finger in the air by way of demonstration. "When you stop moving your hand, the whirlpool dissipates. But the whirlpool wasn't your hand. And it wasn't the water, either. The Living Force in us is the hand under the water."

With a gesture, Aylee plucked a training ball off the desk several yards behind her and brought it to her hand. She held it steady, hovering over her palm.

"Usually, we exert our intention as pressure." She tossed the ball up high, then let it fall into her hand. "But what if... I exert Force against you?"

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow. "Planning to throw me into a wall?"

Aylee frowned at him and set the ball aside. "Lift your hand."

He did as instructed, and Aylee lifted her hand in a mirrored gesture.

"Now, press against my palm."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he exerted a light pressure across the space between them.

"You're pressing against the flesh of my hand, right?"

"Right..."

"Now..." Aylee exerted some pressure of her own, not against his hand but against the Force he controlled. The sense of touch and pressure shifted from her skin into the realm only Force sensitives could access. It was a bubble. A barrier. Living Force against Living Force.

Obi-Wan let out a harsh breath.

"Do you feel that?" Aylee whispered. It... hummed and tingled. This invisible film of contact. She felt heat, like a desert wind. "I think"—breathless—"the bond brings us into... resonance. Like tuning forks that can make one another ring. Every living thing has its own vibrational frequency. And if they're out of tune..." She frowned.

"What?" Obi-Wan shifted his gaze from her raised hand.

She pressed her lips together. "Do you know why mind reading hurts?"

He shook his head and played with the press of Force.

"Because... it's an injection of Living Force into someone. The natural repulsion tries to force them out. But... we can resist it through brute strength. Like holding repelling magnets together."

By his expression, this was not welcome news. "Resonance... is the opposite."

Aylee nodded. "In theory." She let her eyes fall shut. "I'm going to try something. Just sit and relax."

The pressure from the Force abated, and Aylee chased after it with her own awareness. She sought the warming heat of twin suns, a gentle gust of sirocco. She imagined turning into it, basking in its glow, striving for where the intensity was brightest.

Obi-Wan's breath hitched.

Aylee's words came out rushed. "What do you feel?"

"Pin pricks in my chest." He sounded breathless.

Her senses reached a surface, and she imagined her hands brushing over it, slipping across it as she searched for a way in.

Obi-Wan let out a quick breath and gasped.

"That must be you. The Living Force in you. It feels solid... vibrant."

He exhaled unsteadily. Whispered. Awed. "I feel it everywhere."

The hands she imagined splayed against the hard shell.

"I don't want to push," she said, warning and apology.

"You think"—short breath—"we can bridge the gap."

Sun, warm. Shivering beneath her senses. "I think the bond is the bridge. That we wouldn't have gotten this far."

She heard him take a long, slow breath. Another, deeper.

Something shifted in the quality of the contact. The hard shell softened.

"Ben..."

"Shhh." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Trying to draw the feeling... in."

Aylee waited. The Living Force in her pressed to the Living Force in him.

The surface, like a bubble, popped.

And she fell. Plunged into that warm desert as emotions came from nowhere. Fear, surprise, elation, buffeting each side, knocking her over, stealing her breath. The sky expanded to forever, filled with images of places she had never seen. She wanted to call his name, ask if he was all right, but she knew as quick as thought the answer, communicated below the need for words.

She lost her body. The pillow. The floor. The air.

Only the Force. Screaming life. His life, heartbeat for heartbeat. Power rushed away. She could feel the flood of it leaving her body spreading into that vast internal sky.

She couldn't have known...

She couldn't have known.

 **OBI-WAN**

Ecstasy.

A mountain river of energy roared over him, forced a sound from his throat he could not hear.

Emotion. Memories. Quick flashes. Not his.

The Force.

Oh... _oh._

He breathed and it expanded beyond his limits. The Force pulsing, surrounding, moving. _How did it move?_ It felt like ice across his skin, swept aside by fire. That was the air. The pressure of the air in the room igniting his nerves. Too much to hold, too many sensations.

He blinked and saw the ceiling. The dim lights in Aylee's quarters bright as stars, piercing and too grand. He shut his eyes, but he could hear, still. Too many, too much, too far. His senses stretched by the rush of power. Beyond walls, through hallways. The life of Coruscant called. Begging. Cried. Laughing screams. Bellowed whisper. _Stop... please..._

The Force crushed and passed through, ripping the fog of memory aside. Qui-Gon still in death, and a blush of agony. A woman's face. A swell of love heating to his fingertips. The sting of a failure. The first bite of a blaster hit on his leg. The exact sense of worthlessness for a mid-mark on a history exam when he was ten.

Distinct. Cutting clarity.

He sucked a breath in case he had forgotten and tried to shove the images aside. Power heaved through him. Power enough to lift... anything. A building. This building, if he tried. It roared through his muscles, begging to be used.

Too much.

He gasped.

Too much life. Everywhere. A thought, a worry formed in his knowing. _Are you okay?_ Aylee. He answered with the emotion of a smile.

He breathed and the galaxy breathed. And her, right there, a joyous curiosity brimming with the white water flood. Glowing. Did she know? Could he say?

The sensation cut off, and Obi-Wan's back dropped suddenly to the floor with startling reality. He blinked his eyes open, and Aylee's face resolved in the low light, leaning over him. Her hand was warm against his cheek.

"Ben?" So gentle. Worried.

Her features blurred in his vision, and he blinked again. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes, and he opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out.

Aylee slid her arm beneath him to help him up and hauled him toward the bed, leaning him back against it. He stared—across the room, at her. Breaths shivered in and out of him. She touched his face again, his shoulders. It got his attention when she gathered his hands into hers. Worry burrowed in her eyes.

"You're shaking," she told him gently and squeezed on his hands.

He was. Obi-Wan's body condensed into something he could feel again, and it shook to the core with tremors. He scraped air into his lungs in gasps. He had no ribs. No flesh.

He glanced down at himself to check and slowly pressed her hands flat against his chest, covering the most vulnerable place. She shifted her weight on her knees and added pressure. Like she was holding his heart in.

"Please tell me you're okay," she whispered, searching his face.

Obi-Wan swallowed with a dry click and tried again to find words in a body this small, meaning outside that vast river of power.

"I-I don't have words," he managed. Aylee sagged in relief and stopped pressing quite so hard. "I felt... powerful. Connected. It was overwhelming." He looked at her. "Indescribably beautiful."

He became aware of the heat of her hands under his palms and could not stop looking at her eyes, dark and expressive. The concern in them melted into relief. She withdrew her hands but stayed, hovering close. Obi-Wan swallowed, reliving the experience as much as his confined flesh would allow.

"You're so much stronger than I realized," he said, voice trembling. His whole body wracked with uncontrollable quakes.

Aylee gave him a curious look. "What do you mean?"

He smiled. "I felt like I could have lifted this whole building," he said with a light, unsure laugh.

She huffed. "I can't lift the building." She looked down briefly, then met his eyes.

It was steadying. A rock. An island. "No," he said, understanding without knowing how. "But maybe _we_ can." What he'd felt was neither of them alone, a plural power.

The air grew still, close. His own breathing sounded loud in his ears.

Very slowly, with every opportunity to make her stop, Aylee lifted a hand and touched his cheek. He shuddered, oversensitive skin sparking hot, electric. Her Force signature pulsed in reply, and she moved so gently. Swiped her thumb across his lower lip and leaned in. Waited until he opened his eyes.

He could feel her breath. Chest ached with the rapid pounding of his heart. Hands throbbed. He nodded. The slightest of motions, thought " _Yes..."_ and maybe she heard.

Aylee closed the space. Lips met lips. Soft, hot. The final note to a song. Liquored vitality. He kissed back. Unskilled but eager. A lick of flame up his spine. A sharp surge of joy and want. Like the rush of Force power, making him bold.

Her teeth scored lightly on his lower lip, and he shivered, vulnerable. Gasped.

 _There is no passion; there is serenity._

The words shot jolting through his mind. A cold hammer of guilt rang against his skull, and he pulled back, regret burning in every fiber, face hot with shame.

"We can't," he forced the whisper out and looked away.

Panting and flushed, Aylee frowned at him. "What?" She went to touch his face again, but he caught her wrist—because he wanted to feel that brush again. Because it felt so right.

 _There is no passion..._

"The Code," he said, meeting her eyes. "It's forbidden." The words tasted of ashes.

She stared at him. Shock at first, then something worse—hurt covered under by a thin press of her mouth.

"Fuck the Code," she muttered, pulling from his grip and standing.

He felt the loss twice over, the sudden lack of heat, the throttling of emotion across the bond. He hadn't known it for what it was until just that moment. It slid into him like a knife knowing that they could block one another, and that she wanted to.

His breathing went ragged. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?"

Obi-Wan frowned, confusion churning in his gut. "We took an oath," he said, voice laced with regret.

Aylee spun, hurt evident on her face. The restrained tears tore at him. "Not to this! We took an oath to serve justice, to follow the Light—"

"To honor the Code!" This belief lodged in his ribs, and he stared up at her, lost. He had touched her soul, seen her being and found no darkness. But then how... _how_ could she say something like this and mean it? He shook his head in dismay, seeing a stranger. "How can you betray it so easily?"

"How can _you_ abide it so blindly?" She lashed back. "We heed the will of the Force." She reigned herself in, chest rising and falling with the heat of passion, and gazed into him. "Ben, it's _made_ of life. And... I've... _never_ felt more... intimately connected to another life than just now."

Obi-Wan's cheeks flushed at her words, and for a moment he couldn't look at her. It spun him sideways, made him strain to feel the floor beneath his hands. He knew her. Her quality, her power. The way he knew how to breathe. He had _felt_ it. And the Force, flowing in a way he'd never known before. She wasn't wrong...

At his silence, she pressed on. "You honestly think we should ignore this... wondrous thing because of some words a man wrote down millennia ago?" She sounded small, defeated, like someone who knew how to be discarded through practice.

He looked up again, the shock of her blasphemy overriding his doubt. "The Code is more than that."

"Is it?" So bitter.

"It is to me!" He surged up from the floor, losing pieces of himself. _It has to be_.

Aylee stared at him from across a chasm. His heart squeezed desperately. Aching. Was it a moment ago he'd been flooded with joy? Too overwhelmed with the intensity to speak?

 _There is no emotion; there is only peace._

It's what made them who they were. He curled his fingers against reaching out. Wanting to connect. Forbidden from connecting. His eyes fell to her lips, freshly kissed—warm, gentle—drawn in disappointment. In him. In being... who he had always been.

 _I can't..._

"I can't..." Breathed more ashes that burned his throat.

She gazed at him with glassy, dark eyes. "You should go."

It sounded like farewell, and he flinched. He retreated into the safety of his robes and did not look back at her as he left. He curled into the fabric, into the small sanctuary, bleeding emotion with every step. His chest ached and gut echoed with hollow cries. He'd made the right choice. A lifetime of dedication said he'd made the right choice. He found his way home without remembering and crossed the threshold to his room a shell, a paper-thin carapace in a manlike shape.


	15. Jedi Temple and Archive

**OBI-WAN**

He shed clothing like tears across the apartment, leaving a trail. They scuffed his skin, weighed his frame. Some unseen force sat him on the edge of his bed and peeled off his heavy boots, leaving him free to fall, roll, curl on his side into the sheets; his skin turned to ice, hands to dumb clay.

It was too early yet to sleep.

Every breath came labored, cracking his ribs, and too short.

It was the right thing.

Obi-Wan stared at the wall, swallowed, and told himself this. _The right thing, the correct choice_. It rattled through his hollow insides, finding no purchase. A shivering wind cast it away, and he tried again. The _right_ thing. There'd been no choice.

He couldn't—

The Code was clear...

 _There is no emotion; there is peace._

But then why—his guts ached— _why_ did it feel like loss?

He hugged his arms tighter to keep the cold out, but misery chills from within. Worse, he could remember the infinite sky, the intimate knowing. The warmth of her hands and breath, a kiss that was _also_ the right thing, the perfect completion.

Obi-Wan pressed his eyes shut against the memories, beautiful and tantalizing memories, and conjured instead the look on her face. The hurt. The sharp bite in the words when she told him to leave. When she cleaved him off.

Tears edged under closed lids as his bones echoed with that loss.

 _The right thing..._

"Master?" Anakin's small voice shattered the silence of the apartment.

Obi-Wan flinched and turned away a little more. "Not now," he managed, sounding rough.

He could feel his padawan lingering with indecision. Then the door to Anakin's room closed. Blessedly, he'd chosen this once to listen, and Obi-Wan's chest unlocked just enough to breathe.

So little as that had drained all his energy. He didn't move but to shiver and blink, not marking the hours.

Eventually, Anakin came out again. "Master?" Obi-Wan ignored him, but this time he wasn't quite taking no for an answer. While Obi-Wan blinked slowly at his own shadow cast on the wall, Anakin rounded the bed and knelt into his line of sight. The boy frowned, looking him up and down. "Obi-Wan? Are you okay?" he asked, hesitating over the words.

"No, Ani, I'm not . . ." His voice came out whispered and weak.

Anakin's eyes grew wider with alarm. "Are you sick? Should I get a medical droid?"

"No . . ." Obi-Wan's tongue felt clumsy and slow. "This isn't something they can fix."

The frown on Anakin's brow deepened. He watched as a series of shivers struck Obi-Wan's frame, then gestured with one hand pulling the top cover up and over as far as it would go with Obi-Wan still lying in the middle. Anakin stood and started to leave, then turned back and ducked again into view.

"I'm going to get dinner. I'll bring you something back," he said, decisive and determined.

Obi-Wan watched him stand and move out of sight. He didn't have the heart to tell him that he wouldn't eat it.

Anakin left.

Anakin returned.

 _There is no emotion._

He slid a tray onto the side table somewhere behind Obi-Wan's back and hovered for a second before disappearing back into his room. The offering smelled like nothing, perfectly nutritionally balanced and utterly bland. Unsettled by the thought, by the cascade of memories that followed, Obi-Wan rolled onto his back and carefully unwound his limbs, exposing his fragility to the sky. He stared at the ceiling, an expanse as empty as he felt, and wondered if this was what the right choice should feel like.

He thoughts started, buckled, and started again. Always with the Code, and ending at some fond memory—a loss at a chal'tek game, a shared look and a smile, the fleeting thought last time he saw Dex that he should bring Aylee; she'd like it there. He examined that small desire with a surgeon's eye.

A desire, yes. To give. To create happiness.

 _There is peace._

Should he find fault with that?

His stomach churned, and he tossed an arm across his face, burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow. He could feel Qui-Gon's heavy gaze and shook his head, wishing he could ask just one more question. Always just one more.

Obi-Wan sighed audibly, the last of his breath curling into a sob.

 _Trust in the Force._ That's what his master would have told him. Trust his instincts and trust in the Force.

The wheels of his mind spun him down to exhaustion, and the weight of grief groaned through his body with a winter's storm. And still he lay, staring at the black behind his eyes. Staring up at the silver ceiling. Too tired to sleep, he tossed one way, then another, then gave up on the bed entirely. The Code ran in a litany through his thoughts, repeated in so many voices he had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his ears.

 _"You can't solve a problem you don't understand, Obi-Wan." "Yes, Master."_

Obi-Wan stared at the pile Anakin had made of his discarded clothes and almost summoned a half-smile. He pulled his robe from the tangle with effort and bundled himself, though it did nothing for the marrow of ice steaming his bones. He glanced down at his feet, still in socks, and then at his boots laying haphazard near the bed.

The effort he imagined to put them on winded him, and he decided the socks would do. They were quieter anyway. Obi-Wan shuffled toward the door with his arms wrapped deep in his sleeves and a single destination in mind.

The Archive never closes. It's part practical, to serve the Temple's many nocturnal species, and part philosophical. The galaxy's knowledge should always be available to a hungry mind. The lights had long since dimmed to a dusky orange red, giving the whole of the Archive a strange contrast. The glowing datacrons stood out more this way, as though reminding you with bright blue lights that stung the eyes that you should be asleep at this hour.

Obi-Wan passed through the entrance hall hunched and feeling small. Perhaps a little foolish, too. He avoided the circulation desk, stealing only a glance at the archivist on station—a Mashi Horansi whose jet black fur made it difficult to see in the low light. It cast a look around, and Obi-Wan caught a flash of reflected light off its eyes as he turned away and hurried on. It—he? she?—had seen and marked his presence, though, and he regretted the choice to come without shoes, disheveled and half-dressed.

Perhaps the choice to come at all.

But still. No use turning back now.

He found a console out of the way and sat. A blank, waiting screen glared back at him, and he tried to imagine where to start. "The Code" seemed a bit broad. A bit simplistic. And yet... it was the heart of his trouble.

He sighed at himself and typed it in.

Unsurprisingly, a lifetime's worth of reading came back as a result. He could filter out oblique mentions and anything not strictly Reference. Philosophical Exegesis sounded promising. As did History. He built himself a reading list and transferred the citations to a datapad on the stack next to the console.

Obi-Wan slipped soundless from the chair and moved to one of the long reading tables where he could get better light. He set the pad down on the table in front of him, crossed his arms into his sleeves, and hunched over to read, shifting only when he needed to turn the page.

In addition to the many separate works it contained, the Archive maintained its own writings on every subject. Jedi spent their lives on this work: gathering, filtering, writing, editing, improving, synthesizing. He started with a simple history that read much like the history of the Order itself. Nothing he didn't already know, that hadn't been drilled into him from the time he could understand speech. He skipped to the Further Reading section and scrolled through an impressive list of titles and names he didn't recognize. Somewhere in the middle, the shape of the listing changed to an unfamiliar series of letters and numbers. Obi-Wan frowned at them. He felt them slide across the back of his neck, and the ciphers pulsed at him, waving fiery fingers.

He stood and looked up and around at the stacks, then started for the nearest one. He peered upward for signage, hoping for something that matched the lettering on the datapad. Nothing did, so he started skimming down the rows. His wandering took him further, and he ventured into the East Wing, scanning for reference numbers and chasing their changes.

Perhaps it was that he was so alone. Perhaps the darkness. Or the throb of the datacrons like a creature breathing. Perhaps his exhaustion and crystal spun heart.

He felt reality shifting around him, a slow slide of cold mud down his back.

The stacks expanded, and Obi-Wan felt insignificant beside their mountains, frighteningly lost. He looked ahead as the blue glow of the cubes curved around a gentle bend, and he knew they would go on that way forever. He could walk, run, and only find more darkness, more tunnel, more blue.

The dark of the Archive heaved with fraught shadows. Obi-Wan could feel their massive shapes menacing at his back. He slowed to a stop and stared, straining to hear the things that skittered and shuffled just out of sight. Stared at a long hallway, stretching away from him and disappearing into pitch.

Panic sliced into his chest, and he groped for the wall as he pressed his eyes shut. His heart beat rapid fire, skin burst sweat, and he lost the ground, his sense of balance. Roaring blood rushed in his ears. _Run!_ He couldn't breathe...

"Can I help you find what you're looking for?" A soft man's voice.

Obi-Wan spun and lurched unsteadily back with an inarticulate sound of distress.

The shadows materialized into the Mashi Horansi's hulking form, his white robes glowing faintly like an apparition.

Was this a dream? Was he dreaming? Obi-Wan's heart pounded hard and fast, confusion and fear arcing through him. Could he have fallen asleep in his apartment? Not come to Archives in his underclothes and robe?

He couldn't... tell.

The archivist held out his clawed hand.

Blinking, trembling as the rush of panic pulled back, Obi-Wan very slowly handed him the datapad. "Are you... real?" He hadn't meant to say it, but everything felt watercolored, running and surreal.

The Horansi huffed. "I seem to be," he said. The edges of his feline head and body blended into the darkness, fur drinking in the light.

That sounded like something a dream vision would say.

Obi-Wan pulled his robes tighter and watched, while the archivist checked his list.

"You're in the wrong place," his soft voice rolled over the Rs. "These are in Special Collections. Follow me." He turned and flicked his tail, expecting Obi-Wan to follow.

The Horansi started to disappear into the shadows, as dream things do. Fuzzy, as though his feet didn't quite touch the ground, Obi-Wan followed, curious to see where this vision would take him.

They came to a nondescript door with a keypad. Obi-Wan drifted in the great cat's wake, stealing glances at him. The Mashi Horansi were the mystics among their people. They appeared from nowhere, delivering prophecies with their gifts of foresight. To see one was to see an omen. Obi-Wan swallowed and gave the archivist space in the elevator they took down to who knew where. He looked swift and strong and calmly self-assured: everything Obi-Wan had forgotten how to feel.

The elevator doors slid open on complete darkness. When the archivist stepped out, the building came to life around him. An amber glow bloomed from above, bathing him in light. He turned and beckoned Obi-Wan out of the safety of the elevator.

If he'd been hoping for evidence that this was not a grief-driven dream, Special Collections offered no such material. The light followed where Obi-Wan stepped, showing him just enough of the surrounding room not to walk into things. Not nearly enough to judge how large the space was. Nothing glowed, not like the breathing datacrons.

This was a tomb.

Obi-Wan stuck to the archivist's side as they approached a glass box the size of a small office. Inside, a few tables and chairs sat looking forgotten, like a museum display. The door had a standard control panel at least.

"Wait here, please," the Horansi purred.

Obi-Wan gave him a sharp look and struggled with the fear of being abandoned in this unreality. "Where are you going?"

"The Ossian Chamber, to get your books." He bowed his head, looking unconcerned.

Obi-Wan's pulse rushed and gooseflesh flashed down his arms. _Ossian_. "I—thank you." He bobbed his head with a slight bow, and the archivist responded again in kind.

"Do you require the translation film?"

"Probably a good idea."

The Horansi bowed again, light gliding over his midnight fur, and swept off on silent feet. Obi-Wan entered the small chamber and sat, peering around at the vast nothingness—too familiar a sight. The ice in his marrow burned, and he was surprised when his exhale didn't plume in a fog. _There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity_. He could see when the archivist started back, as the panels in the ceiling lit, tracing his way. He came into view with a droid in tow.

Obi-Wan turned in his chair as they entered. The archivist held a book to his chest like a child and gently set it down to Obi-Wan's left. The droid held a few more in its many spindly manipulators and made a second neat stack. The Horansi offered back the datapad and then a large, thin, flexible sheet. The translation film, Obi-Wan assumed. He took it and looked over the surface, pressing on what appeared to be the power switch.

"Touch here," the archivist reached and indicated a button, "to switch from opaque to transparent. If you wish to see the original script."

Obi-Wan tapped the button, and the clear film turned solid white in the center, leaving the edge controls clear. He tapped it again.

"Perhaps... if you tell me what you're looking for, I can be of more assistance," the archivist said.

Obi-Wan offered a weak grin. _There is no emotion; there is peace._ "I don't know..." He didn't want to ask...

The Horansi made a sound that held kinship to a laugh.

"That's funny?" Obi-Wan asked with a crumbling sound, feeling his hurt places ache.

The archivist sobered. "Not to you. But... if you were the Night Archivist for a while..." He shrugged massive shoulders and gestured to the droid. "The droid will return the books when you are done," he said, and turned to leave.

"Your people," Obi-Wan found himself saying, keeping the creature here a few moments longer. The Night Archivist fixed him with a penetrating look from those yellow eyes. "You're the mystics, aren't you?"

"We are..."

"Have you ever..." Obi-Wan shrugged, grasping. "Looked it up? Tried to... learn what they would have taught you?"

The great cat narrowed his eyes. "Yes... But... I am here. And they are there. And I was not raised a Mashi."

Obi-Wan swallowed, his mouth gone dry under a predator's regard. "Right..."

The Night Archivist tipped his head. "Good hunting." Then slipped out the door and up the elevator, leaving Obi-Wan alone in his pool of light with his books.

The Work bent him with its own desire. If he was a slave to it, he did not have to think, to remember. He did not have to _long_. Only search and flip and read, scanning pages for snatches of sentences that would make him stop and read in earnest. Hunting, the Night Archivist had said. Hunting required patience, and Jedi were trained to patience, and Obi-Wan was a good Jedi.

He turned a page nearly three-quarters of the way through the first volume the archivist had set down and set the translation film into the spine. As the film lay overtop the page, its opaque surface produced words in galactic common. His eye caught on "Jedi" then "mantra" and he slowed to read.

 _In their schools, the Jedi teach their children a mantra that becomes the basis of their meditation and their teachings. They do not call it a religion. A philosophy, Berti tells me. I went to his temple once, and we all sat in a circle with our eyes closed. The master had us repeat these phrases, over and over. I think I shall never forget them._

 _Emotion, yet peace._

 _Ignorance, yet knowledge._

 _Passion, yet serenity._

 _Chaos, yet harmony._

 _Death, yet the Force._

Obi-Wan read through the short passage a second time, tracing the words with his fingers. They seemed... so similar. And yet...

His mind turned them over, touching their shape and texture. He imbibed slowly, a drop at a time sinking through the earth of his mind. They found thoughts, memories, shriveled roots.

The changes were small. But monumental.

He shivered with a new kind of chill and quickly copied the passage over to the datapad.

"Emotion, yet peace," he said aloud to himself. "Passion, yet serenity."

The subtle meaning sunk like sunlight into his skin, feeding something dormant and vital, and he felt the bulk of the Temple suddenly vast and cold around him. Saw the white hallways, perfectly clean... _sterilized_. Lifeless.

But these words... _these_ words...

He touched the film and felt stars in his stomach.

These words spoke of acceptance, of the world that is and the possibility of what could be. Of balancing two opposites. Of harmony.

The Code he learned as a child rung in his ears.

 _There is no emotion; there is peace._

 _There is no passion; there is serenity._

Denials, he realized, a stone dropping through his core. Eradication. A bleach on life.

There is no...

There is no...

There is... nothing.

He shuddered and leaned back in his chair. Pain squeezed at his heart; he thought he'd been done with pain. This was a thorn plucked free and a well of blood.

The Order _denied, negated_. They had always told him they followed life, _loved_ life. _There is no_...

He picked up the datapad with weak fingers and checked the reference.

 _Ossian Chamber. A954-2. Page 375. Translation by Ay—_

Stars...

 _...Translation by Aylee Desai._

Obi-Wan's breath squeezed out as his throat closed with renewed anguish. Aylee had told him, in the cloister of night and tea steam that the Jedi who were would not recognize the Jedi who are. She had tried to tell him, without telling him, testing his waters. He could barely breathe for the delicate shards of his ribs.

He read the words again, this old Code. And he could feel in them the harmony, the warmth. They embraced. They _loved_. And many, many years ago, they had been abandoned.

There had been legacies. Families. By implication... love. _Emotion_.

It couldn't—

They _wouldn't_ —

A drowning man's terror kicked him to his feet as a wave of revelation struck. He recoiled from the book, still clutching the datapad, panting. His whole life: follow the Code or fall to the Sith. A simple edict. A daily molding. _How can you follow so blindly..._

His gut churned, and he had no answers.

He backed up a step. Another, shaking with cold betrayal.

"Master, are you fini—"

He turned and ran.

The elevator opened its doors to a waking library, and Obi-Wan plunged into the scathing brightness. He hurried through the hall, heedless of the way his robe flapped, exposing his state of undress. He neared the circulation desk, heart beating like a drum, and _Jocasta_ turned to look at him, no Night Archivist.

"Master Kenobi..." she said, voice laced with concern.

She could see it. Perhaps it shone from his face, from his skin. The doubt and the knowing. What if this new knowledge bled from him for others to see?

He could not form a reply over the stone in his throat and hurried on. He needed to _think_. And there was one place in the Temple better than any other for that.

Obi-Wan avoided the gazes of the Jedi he passed as he wound his way to the Western Garden. Grief was a brimming cauldron within him, sloshing over the sides. He stepped carefully, with a conservation of movement. He could not contain any more. Losing Aylee. The Order slipping from him. How could emptiness be so full? But he burst with it, not an ounce left to give.

Passing through the garden door was like breathing again, filling him with a familiar succession of fragrances as he passed from section to section and slowed his panicked panting. His skin stretched tight as he lowered himself onto a bench. The dull Coruscant sky grew rosy with pre-dawn, and speeders dotted the air like black birds.

Obi-Wan stared for a moment, then folded and rested his forehead in his palms.

"Master..." he muttered, voice thick. "I wish you were here..." He shook his head a little, grief cutting off his voice until it built and rolled up his throat. "I don't know what to do."

His conviction lay in shards around him. The Order had been _different_ once, but still good, still servants of the Light. But then why, _why_ alter it the way they had... the philosophies battled one another in his mind, though he couldn't work through the deeper implications. Not in words. Just a feeling. _Trust your instincts_. That he had been lied to and the Force was more nuanced than a binary divide.

The sky brightened while he sat, and Obi-Wan lifted his face from his hands. He stood as the first rays of sun broke over the horizon and closed his eyes. The heat dried the salty tracks on his cheeks, but he heard no words. No echoed voice of Qui-Gon's wisdom. Perhaps, his heart quivered, some things one must face alone.

With a sigh and heavy tread, Obi-Wan turned back to the Temple, empty and aimless. His fingers barely clung to the datapad that bounced against his side as he walked. And the weight of complex philosophy turned his gaze downward, to the cold, polished floors. They looked alien to him, twisting reflections of those who walked by. Twisting his own.

The halls, not a day ago his home, belonged to someone else now, and every step he took in them was a theft.

He took the long way, avoiding elevators, and descended into the bowels of the Temple. He hadn't been in this sector for a long time—since his own childhood. He slowed as the sound of voices filtered out of the rooms at the end of the hall. White walls gave way to glass panels, and he edged close.

It was a Youngling nursery. The youngest of them spent most of their time in a room like this, with their peers, teachers, and plenty of early learning toys to keep them occupied. They ran or sat or tussled with each other. Some gathered at their teachers' feet with rapt attention. They hadn't yet learned the Code or absorbed their many disciplines. Unmolded clay, with the Force flowing through them.

The glass walls allowed for observation, and small gaps between panes let sound pass through. Obi-Wan watched a small blonde girl and her teacher. The teacher held up a card with the first letter of the basic alphabet.

"Aurek!" the girl announced. The next card. "Besh!" Then, "Cresh! Dorn!"

Her teacher held up the card for Esk.

"Hawkbat!" the little girl declared. She laughed and fell over at her own joke, giggling until her face was red.

Her teacher chuckled under her breath. "Not a hawkbat. Let's try again."

They started at the top. Aurek, Besh...

"Hawkbat!"

Her teacher's face flattened to a serious expression, and the girl cackled at the response.

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh and hid his smile behind one hand. It was a brief glimmer, dulled by the knowledge of what would happen next. He knew, as though it rose from memory, exactly what the Jedi teacher would say. _Laughter,_ he thought, sinking, _is an emotion_.

"Be serious, Kori. You must learn this."

The girl's brilliant smile and innocent laugh faded from her face, ironed out by her master's scowl. Bile burned at the back of Obi-Wan's throat, but he kept watching.

"I know," Kori told her teacher.

"Then why won't you say it all the way through?"

"Because it's funny." The girl tried a smile again, but it didn't stick.

 _Because no one told her she can't be funny,_ Obi-Wan thought. _So she values the joy._

 _Ignorance, yet knowledge._

He turned away, ache burrowing deep in his chest. It was not his place to have a say. In the Temple, from the time you learn to talk you learn that emotions lead to the Dark Side. And this was how it happened, one scolding at a time. _There is no emotion; there is peace._

He didn't have the energy to run, so he walked through the cogs of this great machine, churning out warriors for The Republic and Justice, programmed for duty and obedience to a depth he'd never quite contemplated before. He found his apartment on autopilot—good droid—and wandered to his closet for fresh clothes. His arms and shoulders ached as he pulled on a shirt, and he nearly lost his balance switching into new pants. Tunic... tabard.

Anakin shuffled out of his room. Obi-Wan kept his attention on winding the fabric of his belt.

"Master?" Anakin hesitated, then moved closer. "Did I... do something?"

Obi-Wan spared him a glance, then. He couldn't be a master now. Not now...

"No." He bent to pick up his leather belt and pouches, then frowned and gave Anakin a look. " _Did_ you do something?"

"No! I—no! At least, I don't think so..."

Obi-Wan nodded vaguely at him and threaded the belt through the buckle. "Go do something fun," he said.

Anakin's eyes grew wide, and he invaded Obi-Wan's space to slap a hand against his forehead to check for a fever. Obi-Wan batted him away with a look of manufactured annoyance.

"Go."

"Do... something fun," Anakin repeated, slow and doubtful.

"Yes!" Obi-Wan turned to him, exasperated. "The things you do when you don't think I'm looking? Battle droids, for instance?"

Anakin's jaw dropped. "You—"

"GO."

The boy jumped, clamped his jaw shut, and decided this wasn't a fight he particularly wanted to win.

When the door swished closed behind him, Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged. He felt tired and brittle and unmoored. And his thoughts kept turning the same way. He wasn't sure what words lay on the tip of his tongue, just that he needed to see her. Lift the ban of hurt that made his world small.

He grabbed a satchel and stashed the datapad in it before heading out, somewhat fresh and somewhat ragged. A few minutes later, he stood outside Aylee's apartment, fingers wavering above the door panel.

What if...

What if...

What if...

 _Don't leave me like this._

He touched the chime, and a few seconds later Tir-Zen opened the door.

"Master." Tee bowed his head slightly and spoke the word with wary care. He gazed with eyes of molten metal.

Obi-Wan straightened his spine. "Is she—"

"Not here." Tir-Zen's voice scraped. He frowned with more disappointment than anger, and Obi-Wan could no longer meet his eyes.

"Please," he said, the edges frayed.

Tir-Zen let him stew, then relented with a sigh. "Third tier training room."

Obi-Wan glanced up. Tee must have read the struggle on his face, because his scowl softened. The instinct to apologize clawed at the back of Obi-Wan's mind, but he discovered he harbored pride, too. "Thank you," he said softly, strained.

Tir-Zen scratched at the base of one of his forward horns and nodded. For a moment, it looked like he might say more. Threat? Advice? But he shook his head and turned away, closing the door in Obi-Wan's face.

The training rooms were configured for different purposes. Some for physical workouts and lightsaber practice. One, a very deep pool for swimming, diving, and eventually aquatic battle. The third tier towered up several floors through the Temple. Its walls and surfaces were all heavily padded, and a variety of posts, platforms, hoops, and dummies decorated its height. Harnesses strung like webbing across the walls, and it was here that padawans and Jedi worked on more advanced Force acrobatics. Backflips and high dives didn't simply happen any more than dueling.

Obi-Wan stepped into the blinding, gleaming tower. High above, forms in brown and white bounced from thin beams to platforms, with the assurance that the cords attached to their waists would brake any fall. Aside from them, only one other Jedi occupied the space.

Aylee stood at the far wall, gazing upward at an illuminated board. She had a wide, sturdy stance, and she flowed her weight from one leg to the other, while her hands curled and gripped through the air as though drawing vines in close and pressing them away. It was a continuous, liquid motion. Above her, lighted shapes moved down the board and stacked on one another in odd orientations.

As she moved, the shapes moved. They rotated and slid, slotting into place. Controls hidden behind the lights had to be turned and manipulated. It took skill. That was the training part. But it was also a game. As more blocks completed rows, the shapes dropped faster, and one's score went higher.

Obi-Wan stood just inside the door, watching. The game was dropping two pieces at a time, and Aylee's movements quickened. She tossed them into holding patterns, rotating both at once. Two pieces became three. Became four.

Aylee stopped shifting her weight and held her hands up. All motion switched to her wrists and fingers, and she stepped back from the board to get a wider view. Back and back. Her fingers flew, turning and dropping pieces. From his vantage point, Obi-Wan could see the missteps, the poorly placed choices. The towers of unused pieces grew as Aylee struggled to control four at once. She kept stepping further back, trying to view the board as a single whole.

Even though it was just a game, Obi-Wan felt himself coil with tension as new pieces fell and went unused. They were nearing the top.

He squinted, flinching as the pace reached manic.

And the whole board exploded into red along with the sound of a buzzer.

Aylee sagged and doubled over. She braced herself against her thighs, panting, then lifted her gaze to the scoreboard. Obi-Wan glanced over. A new record. He grinned with a bit of pride, and then looked back to find Aylee staring at him. From this distance he couldn't read her expression, so he gazed back steadily while his heart went wild and palms started to sweat.

She bent to grab her robe off the floor, settled it over her shoulders, and swabbed her face with one of the sleeves. Still he stood, waiting, gripping his hands into the insides of his sleeves. She gave him a second look and started across the room with a gait that impressed upon him how very much he was waiting. As she grew close, he could see the flush of exertion on her cheeks and a few tendrils of hair that escaped her otherwise severe bun.

Aylee stopped more than an arm's length away and regarded him with detached interest. Obi-Wan tried to search for her presence in the Force—that cool waterfall, the brilliance of shook foil light across a rippling pond. She was right here, and he couldn't feel it. Because she didn't want him to.

He swallowed and summoned the courage to look her in the eye.

"Walk with me?" he asked. He settled his hands.

Her gaze turned curious then. She scanned the length of him, evaluating, and nodded her assent, just once. Obi-Wan turned to go, and Aylee fell in, a pace and a half back and slightly to the left. A few strides down the hall, Obi-Wan stopped.

" _With_ me," he said over his shoulder, imploring and a little hurt.

She closed the gap with a couple steps, and his shoulders relaxed some. Breathing came easier.

Normally, Jedi left the Temple by either speeder or starship. But on the lower levels, there remained the old ways. Obi-Wan led them through twisting halls and down disused elevators. Aylee followed, not asking questions, not falling behind. She simply kept pace as they whisked through the ancient section at the Temple's base.

They reached a great door with no control panel, and Obi-Wan slid it open with a gesture of his hand and an application of Force. It slid closed from its own weight behind them, as they emerged into sunlight, fresh air, and a light breeze. Obi-Wan pressed forward, stalking across the ancient stone courtyard for the nearest stairway.

He slowed to a stop at the top step and turned to look back. The Temple jutted into the sky, a hulking white-slab brutalist mountain. In the very tops of the spires, councils sat in judgment. From so low, they seemed so very high.

Anger ignited in his belly and burned up to his throat. The unexpected flash of it staggered him.

"Ben?" Softly.

 _How can you follow so blindly?_

He didn't feel blind anymore. What he felt— What he could not unstick from the shame in his ribs was _used_.

Obi-Wan turned his eyes away from the Temple and out over Coruscant below. He scanned the sector, searching. The breeze touched his hair and cloak, and he glanced at Aylee. He reached out a hand, the question in his eyes. _Walk with me?_

She hesitated, gauging him, then slid her hand into his.

They descended through a layer of Coruscant's cityscape the long way and emerged into the Promenade. Light from the sun shown bright on this level at certain hours, and the populace swelled thick in the streets. Sometimes they could walk side by side, but often, Obi-Wan blazed a trail through the crowd dragging Aylee behind him. He didn't notice at first when he could feel her again, flashing shimmering at the edge of his awareness. Too much of his attention lay at the Temple. He could feel it like one of the shapes in the Archive, in the nightmare, following and waiting to pounce.

Anger and anxiety stretched his stride.

A crowd packed the Promenade around a Bith street band, and Obi-Wan plunged into the crush of people trying to make their way around. His grip on Aylee's hand tightened. Music drowned out the many conversations passing through the crowd. And the crowd raised its voice to drown out the music.

 _"Obi-Wan, where are we going?"_

He nearly tripped.

Aylee's voice came to him clear and crystalline over the bond. He stopped to look back at her but only got so far as registering a concerned look on her face before an angry Cha'a shoved and shouted at them both, snapping his jaws. His words were lost, but his meaning clear. Obi-Wan shouldered back into the flow of traffic. Words, things he could not contain crowded his mouth, but he couldn't decide what to say. How to say it.

A sense of ease and calming slid soft fingers over his scalp, and for a moment, just a moment he luxuriated in it.

 _"Don't."_ He thought the word back at her, wondering if that was how this worked. He needed this: to feel like rough hewn pieces. To feel at all.

Her presence receded in response, and she squeezed more tightly on his hand instead.

They passed through shopping districts and corridors of restaurants that filled the air with spice and smoke. Eventually, the crowds thinned. Aylee caught up and strode at his side, watching from the corner of her eye. The buildings around them changed architecture, and the crowd turned mostly human.

Obi-Wan slowed as the green canopies in Tol Cressa Park came into view. It was an old park by this strata's standards. If memory served, there had always been some sort of hallowed space to mark this place on the planet's surface. As the city grew up, the park permuted with it, moving ever higher toward the sky. Now, carefully placed mirrors ensured that enough sunlight reached the trees that sat dwarfed by the spacescrapers on every side.

They followed a metal footpath to the edge of the park and then stepped between tree trunk guardians into verdant green. It was by no means the largest park on Coruscant, but even so, the ground sloped away from them into a field further than the eye could see, filled with grass and groves of trees, flowering bushes and an artificial pond.

Aylee sighed.

Obi-Wan took a breath, shallow but it was as deep as it would go. Aylee released his hand, while he stared out at the empty park. Coruscant had too much to do to be out here now. Maybe out here ever.

"You seem... pensive," she said, choosing her words carefully after humoring him so long in silence.

The burning in his chest yawned with the cold of space. "I've had a hard day," he replied, voice spun thin. A little breeze shushed through the leaves above them, and Obi-Wan glanced over. "Are you able to feel it? The life here?"

She gave him a curious look but nodded. "Can't you?"

A sad smile touched his mouth. "Not the way that you do, I don't think." Knots of emotion tied themselves tighter, and Obi-Wan motioned to a large shade tree on the slope of a knoll. He sat himself down in its shadow and watched as Aylee did the same. Below them, deep green grass rolled away.

He tried to gather himself to a starting point, but as the minutes stretched, Aylee relieved him of the burden.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she asked gently. "If not, I could guess."

He hunched a little, glanced at her feeling young and foolish. "What would you guess?"

Aylee hooked her arms over her knees and peered at him, her expression falling. "That you regret... everything. Me."

That felt like a punch to the gut.

She went on, "You're a good Jedi. A good soldier, well-trusted, and I—"

"Are wrong," he whispered, cutting her off.

Obi-Wan reached into the satchel he'd brought and handed her the datapad. He watched as she turned it on and read the text. Her breath shuddered in, and she looked at him with wide eyes, waiting.

He started to say something, but his jaw shivered, ached from being clenched. He tried again, controlled and careful, his voice so brittle. "I saw a Youngling today playing a joke on her teacher, and I thought..." He recalled the squeeze of pain and rolling sickness. Shallow breath. "What kind of people condemn that?" He met her eyes and gestured at the pad. "Not the ones who wrote this... It's different somehow. Simple, but... a galaxy apart."

Aylee set the pad aside, studying his face, and Obi-Wan felt the wave crash over him again, the quick panic of drowning. Grief and anger burst free, and he guttered suddenly despite himself, felt it burn at his eyes. His hands fell numb and useless in his lap.

His voice came out thick with phlegm. "How is my whole life a _lie_?" he asked, trembling words that shook out of him like the last leaves of winter. Everything built on a false dichotomy, a flawed premise. Everything they'd _done_ to all of them...

Aylee's eyes welled with sympathy, and she reached for him. "It's not..." She brushed her fingers light and soothing through his hair, across his cheeks. He had to catch her hands to make her stop, before she knocked his ungluing pieces free.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her face flushed, and she blinked out tears. "This is all my fault. I'm so sorry..."

He squeezed on her hands, heart pounding, and centered his spinning world on that touch. "I'm not," he said, low and rough. She frowned at him in confusion. It sparked from his bones, anger and conviction, and he let it bleed across the bond so she would _know_. "I will _not_ see the Dark Side in the laughter of a child."

He shook his head— _I will not, I will not_ —and the tears hurt too much to restrain a moment longer. He loosened his grip and this time let her brush the tracks away. She pulled him close until their foreheads touched, and he thought he might never stop shaking.

"Then I'm sorry it hurts," she whispered.

Every breath shot pain through his ribs, and he let her fuss, with his hair or his collar, anything she wanted. He couldn't recall anyone fussing over him before, and it tasted like comfort.

"You tried to tell me," he said into the close space between them. He touched her wrist just to feel her skin.

Her short smile colored her voice. "Yes..."

"Why?"

Her breath hitched, and she stroked the back of his hand. "Because I'm selfish," she said. "I thought... you might... understand. I thought if anyone could— I just wanted someone to—"

"Know you," he finished for her.

She pressed her eyes shut, nodding faintly. Shame washed across the bond.

Obi-Wan pulled back and peered at her with red-rimmed eyes. "I don't think that's selfish." She settled a hand along his jaw."I want to feel this place like you do. 'Chaos, yet harmony.'"

She sniffed and took a calming breath, stroking her thumb across the scruff of his beard. Then she frowned a little. "Are you sure? The Council doesn't—"

He covered her hand with his own. "The Council isn't here. Please..."

Aylee's lips twitched into a smile, and she withdrew, snuffling and wiping at her face. She rearranged herself into a meditative posture and gave him an expectant look. When Obi-Wan resettled, their knees touched; the pressure sent tingling light through his leg and across his skin. He let his body relax into position, his hands settling into one another with the ease of familiarity. He bowed his head and let his eyes drift shut.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, just listening to the breeze through the trees and the sound of the city.

"Breathing in..." Aylee began with a soft voice. "We take the Force into our body. Breathing out... we feel it spreading from our hearts, opening to the sky.

"Breathing in... we feel the life within us this moment. Breathing out... we notice the sensations of the body—its comfort. Discomfort.

"Breathing in... we feel the Force as a river, driving our breath. Breathing out... we give to the river as it flows away.

"Breathing in... we feel the ground beneath us full of life. Breathing out... we make space to feel the Force rising up."

Obi-Wan frowned at this suggestion but breathed in unison, searching his sense of the Force for this... motion. The Force didn't move; it simply was.

Aylee breathed in. "Here..." And put her hand on his knee.

His heart jumped, and he breathed a little deeper. But something opened across the bond like an iris widening, and sensation buzzed across his thighs and bottom, every place that touched the ground. The Force hummed louder within, somehow amplified from the connection.

"That's what it feels like to you," he whispered, alight with wonder. Every blade of grass a tiny beacon of Force brushing against him as though waving in a breeze. Moving.

Exhale. Inhale.

He focused on the sensation, trying to memorize it. Eventually, "Let me..." and she removed her hand. The sending faded, leaving Obi-Wan alone with his abilities.

 _Breathing in... we feel the ground beneath us full of life. Breathing out... we make space to feel the Force rising up._

It helped to picture it and loosen the grip of control he kept on the Force that he had never noticed. The Order taught control. This... required sinking. Acceptance. Breathe in. Let it happen.

He felt a tickle under one leg and laughed a little.

"Feel it?" Aylee asked.

 _Breathing in, we take the Force into our body. Breathing out... we feel it spreading from our hearts, opening to the sky._

Flittering, insubstantial motion. Gentle, subtle, easily overlooked chaos.

"Yes..." He kept his voice low and conspiratorial.

He could hear her smile when she spoke. "Breathing in... we expand our awareness, down into the earth, out toward all life. Breathing out... we surrender into the river's flow."

Obi-Wan breathed in and felt the grass moving Force like a perfume. Out... he tried to do nothing, think nothing. In... he let his awareness expand behind him and found a geyser.

He gasped and jerked around and found himself staring up at the tree. Embarrassment crept up his neck, and he gave Aylee a sidelong glance.

"I... um..."

She smiled with sparkle of mischief. "Found the tree?"

He turned back around and straightened his spine. "It's a big tree."

She hummed in agreement, judging him, but quietly. Obi-Wan smiled to himself and brushed his hand along the tops of the blades of grass. He'd felt the _life_ inside _grass_. Aylee stretched her legs out and leaned back, propping herself on her elbows. To lie down, she'd have to take out the bun.

"We could stay awhile," Obi-Wan said, resisting the urge to pluck the grass. The idea of going back... _Knowledge, yet ignorance._ Who would he be back inside those walls? "Would you like that taken out?" he asked, gesturing to her hair.

She gave him a look that slid into a smile and turned to give him access. He plucked pins from the bun, while his eyes kept drifting to the curve of her neck. He let himself trace one finger lightly down to her shoulder. She shivered and let out a warm, pleased sound. He felt the trespass in his core, the troubling flash of guilt, and went no further. When he pulled the last pin, her hair fell in a cascade, and she shook her head with a sigh of relief.

For hours they lay in the shade, watching the traffic above and practicing sending thoughts. _"Pretty blue speeder." "That cargo transport deserves a ticket." "I miss the clouds on Ossus."_

The communicator on Obi-Wan belt chimed, and his anxiety spiked as he reached for it.

"Anakin?" Aylee asked.

He shrugged and clicked the comlink on. "Kenobi."

"Obi-Wan Friend!" Merabax's deep drawl replied.

Obi-Wan glanced at Aylee. "Merabax!"

Aylee tilted her head. "The dug from the Crimson?"

"Aylee Friend?" Merabax sounded as surprised as Obi-Wan felt.

"You know him?" He stared at her.

She shrugged. "How do you think I found you?"

"Yes... Aylee Friend. She come here. I give her directions. Obi-Wan... we had a deal."

"Yes, I know..."

"You come collect, yes?"

Obi-Wan blinked at the comlink. "What? But I—"

"Ithiko is here... He is good. Better! Jedi medics... Our deal is good, yes? You come, I give you information."

Aylee lifted an eyebrow. Technically, she'd completed the bargain, but Bax clearly wasn't splitting hairs.

"All right," Obi-Wan said, shrugging. "We'll meet you at the shop?"

"Shop! Ithiko beat me dead, he would... Home. I send the address. You both come."

Obi-Wan looked at Aylee and smiled a little. She smiled back. "All right. If you insist."

The comlink cut off, and his imagecaster chimed with a new message, undoubtedly the address. So much for a quiet afternoon. Obi-Wan stood and shook out his cloak, while Aylee did the same.

"Well..." he said to her, grinning.

"Well." More of that mischievous smile. "Let's go see what he has to say."


	16. Coruscant

**AYLEE**

It was the third taxi they'd taken in silence. Obi-Wan sat watching out the window, fingers curled artfully against his mouth in what looked like contemplative pose. It was difficult to say. Aylee peered at him from time to time, trying to discern his mood from the corners of his eyes and the drawn line of his lips. She thought—imagined—that he was wound tight between anger and grief, his taut, expressionless visage the remainder between that struggle.

Aylee resisted the urge to reach out, rub a hand across his shoulders, pull him close. She wasn't sure he'd want such things.

What he _wanted_ was to be good.

She'd felt that during the . . . soulbonding? Force-meld? His thoughts flowed through hers, coloring them, leaving traces. She'd known, in the way of memory, his longings. His doubts.

Above all things, Obi-Wan wanted desperately to be judged and found worthy. That was the fear that curled into his core at night—even if he didn't know it. Didn't have the words for the things that drove him, just a blind urging, onward, onward.

She watched him, the Coruscant skyline shifting beyond the glass, and wondered if it would make a difference to tell him that he was the highlight of her day. That she tucked every furtive smile he tried to hide away near her heart. That he felt like earth and fire, from his solid confidence to his dry wit—a muscle deep release from sunbaked stone.

She watched him, and affection gathered in her chest. Aylee turned her attention inward and let her eyes fall shut. In her mind's eye, the emotion took shape as a candle flame, burning at her breastbone. She concentrated on it, feeling the heat build and spread. Touching her shoulders. Touching her hands. The corona of the flame grew brighter as she watched.

In . . . the brightness intensified . . .

Out . . . it pushed away the dark . . .

Until her whole vision filled with yellow, bright emotion, radiating affectionate joy.

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply. "What are you doing?" he whispered, too full of awe.

Aylee gripped the edge of the seat and slowly opened her eyes. She glanced over and gave him a long look before grinning.

He colored with a bashful duck of his chin and looked away, only this time he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. Aylee kept watching as the feel faded, leaving her body light with residual glow. She could see him retreating into himself, into his silence.

Aylee glanced down at the floor between her feet. How could _he_ be good, if the very arbiters of good failed that standard?

 _It means something to me . . ._

Her throat went dry as she sobered from the short sojourn into bliss, and when she spoke it came out low and rough.

"This would be easier without me . . ." she said.

"What?" Obi-Wan turned to look at her then, and she lifted her head to meet his gaze. "You've met Bax already. It'll be fine."

Aylee huffed at him. "That's not what I mean," she said, leveling a serious look. "I'm . . . a temptation."

"That's not true," came the quick reply.

She lifted an eyebrow, and Obi-Wan stumbled.

"That's not— I didn't—" He stopped himself to take a breath, touching the bridge of his nose, and then spoke slowly. "I made a choice. _I_ made a choice." Their gazes collided and held, blazing blue. "I can't prefer ignorance," he said, though by his expression, he longed for it.

Aylee looked away first.

Maybe the Council hadn't been all wrong keeping her sequestered in a backwater part of the galaxy. Their greatest fears come true, right here, and in so little time! Infections spread this way. One host. Then another. Then hundreds and thousands.

Aylee gripped the edge of the seat hard, shaking her head.

"It would still be easier for you if I left you alone." Easier for everyone.

She jumped at a sudden touch and found Ben nudging her fingers out of their death grip on the upholstery to twine their tips with his own, deliberate and gentle.

He spoke with honey whispers, ghosting his thumb over delicate skin. "I didn't join the Order because it was easy."

Aylee smiled lightly at him then settled her gaze on their hands. His touch lit burned petal embers up through her chest, but he made no move to come closer, do more. She wondered, the embers swirling up her cheeks, if this was all they would ever be. He was so good, so _comfortable_ with these small, intimate gestures. She stared at their fingers laced over one another, listening to his patient breathing, and wondered if it would be enough.

If she never kissed him again, would it be enough?

If she never took him to her bed and coaxed out moans of pleasure, would it be enough?

She tightened her grip a little.

If this was all he had it within himself to give, would it be enough?

He squeezed back, and Aylee forced a small smile, too much doubt weighing on her mind. A good person would say yes. A good Jedi would need nothing at all, and yet here she sat, sifting the wants of possible futures and turning her inner eye toward that lovely glow.

"Besides," Obi-Wan said, cracking the solemnity of her thoughts, "I look forward to winning our game."

Aylee's eyebrows shot up, and she laughed in surprise. "Winning?"

He grinned. "Absolutely."

She plucked her hand away and sat back. "You're not even close!"

Obi-Wan eyed her, hiding a smile, though it danced in his eyes. "You just haven't seen my strategy."

"Is that what you call it?"

He gazed out the window and stroked idly at his beard. "Weeks in planning." He cut her a look. "I must say, I'm very much looking forward to it."

Aylee narrowed her eyes, worry forming fire in her belly. He couldn't— It wasn't— "I don't believe you."

Obi-Wan turned to her, grinning and looking his young age. "That's what's going to make the victory so sweet."

Doubt dropped a scowl on her face, and she thought back to the chal'tek game in play. She crossed her arms over her chest, tightening her grip as the taxi swooped onward. He was lying. Trying to psyche her out. Ensure his victory _that_ way, through outside influence.

She gnawed on it. Turned the board game over one way, then the other, recalling the placement of the pieces by feel. Without meaning to, one hand drifted to the empty space in front of her, miming moves. Strategy. Strategy!

Ben's amusement seeped across the bond, and Aylee's eyes popped open. She shot him a look and shoved her hand back under her arm again as she glared out the window. Her mood only brightened when the taxi started to slow.

They climbed out into a district Aylee couldn't name. "How many more?" she asked, brushing down her robes as the speeder lifted away from them. "This takes so long. Tell me again why we're going this way?"

Obi-Wan turned and started for a taxi port with a broken, flickering light. It squatted alone in the shadows under the high rises. Street lights that should have been on stood in dull silence. The small copse of trees nearby grew sickly and withered in soil decorated with trash. Graffiti along the shuttered storefronts claimed this territory for the Draagax.

"Because," Obi-Wan said, not too loudly, "there's no single taxi that will go all the way to the Crimson. We have to go one leg at a time."

Aylee frowned at him. "Or we could just take a speeder down."

Obi-Wan stopped and stared at her. "You can't—" He shook his head. "Is that what you did?"

He looked appalled, and Aylee found herself shrugging. "Yes?" she hedged.

"How much of it was left?"

"Well . . . I . . ." She lifted one shoulder. "I don't really know." It had been a . . . minor detail, at the time.

He huffed a laugh and started again for the small port while Aylee's face burned. The glass on the structure bore scratches, and large shards of it were missing entirely. The single light flickered soundlessly in irregular patterns. Obi-Wan pressed a button that Aylee supposed worked better than the light, and the two of them waited, side by side as the sun lowered and darkness cupped them in its hands.

Eventually, a rough and many-times-rebuilt speeder picked them up and delivered them to the Orange District. The smell and the light and the sound were difficult things to forget. Many more inhabitants filled the streets than last time Aylee'd been this way. She could feel attention pulling in their direction and put up the hood of her cloak. A bubble of silence surrounded them as they move down the sidewalk toward the elevator.

 _"I came this way before,"_ Aylee told him. They passed The Rancor Hutt, and she glanced up at the sign. _"There's a Nazzar in that bar. Did you know that?"_

The shape of Obi-Wan's hood shifted as he inclined his head. _"No. Is that strange?"_

Strange? Remarkable!

 _"Well... yes! I mean, the_ Nazzar _. They—they rarely leave home. Don't like the smell of outsiders. And this one is a_ bartender _. Strange doesn't even begin—I wonder what he's doing here. How he got here. And why."_

 _"Questions you probably shouldn't ask . . ."_

 _"What? Why not?"_

They neared the elevator, and Obi-Wan opened the grate with a flick of his wrist. Aylee boarded and dug her hands further into her sleeves as the cold seeped through the fabric. The elevator jerked and started to move, and then Obi-Wan turned to look at her.

"Because. No one dreams of coming to the Orange District or the Crimson. They end up here. And sometimes the reason why isn't one they'll happily share. Especially not to us."

Aylee frowned as her curiosity and enthusiasm grew bloodless. He was right, of course.

"So . . . an interrogation might be the wrong approach?"

Obi-Wan slid her a wry smile and started wrapping the voluminous sleeves of his cloak more tightly around his arms, tripling the thickness.

 _"Clever."_ Aylee smirked and started to follow suit.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Well, I'm not _all_ a pretty face." And then dug his imagecaster out of a pouch on his belt. As the elevator slowed and came to a clanging stop, he brought up a map of the Crimson. A blinking red dot indicated Merabax's place, and as they started moving, the map oriented itself to their direction and overlaid a real-time path.

Aylee breathed slowly, letting her senses adjust to the metallic tang and stench of rot. She may have grunted. Obi-Wan gave her sympathetic look and distressed nod as he held the back of one hand up to his mouth and nose.

The Crimson Corridor stretched far beyond the main drag, screaming into the darkness with its old and half-dead ads. Aylee glanced down it as they walked by. A neon sign for a strip club had a twi'lek woman on her stomach, kicking her heels up behind her back. Only instead of simulated motion, her leg simply shorted out after the first position, leaving an amputated stump until the sequence started over.

They walked under an infrared emitter, and Aylee slowed to drink in a bit of its heat. She caught Ben by the arm and held him there, until she could feel the tips of her fingers again, then let him carry on into the darker, danker depths. While Obi-Wan studied the map, leading them, Aylee surveyed their surroundings, keeping eyes and ears open. Their boots squelched grit against the metal street, and the silence of the Crimson pressed hard.

Aylee turned as something swooped overhead, following its shadow as she stepped in a perfectly timed almost lazy spin. Fog from her breath curled up in a loose ring. The reflected light from the avenue of shops and advertising dimmed as they went, and eventually vanished. Streetlight didn't exist in the hellhole corner of Coruscant, and Aylee drew a little power into herself to bolster her vision.

The shadows washed away as the Force altered her perceptions. Suddenly, the light from Obi-Wan's holomap was enough to light the street ahead of them and outline the shapes of buildings and alleys. Outline other things, too.

Tension rippled across Aylee's back as a shape with the curve of an arm moved in an alley ahead. Without the Force vision, she couldn't have distinguished one shadow from another, and she had the cold, creeping intuition that that was the idea. Three Gran stepped quietly from their hiding place, triplicate eyes wide. They flicked their ears in the Jedis' direction, and one reached for something at his hip.

They thought they were hidden.

Aylee brushed her fingers through the air toward them. "You have something better to do today," she whispered, and kept Obi-Wan at her side as she watched the small gang.

The leader cocked his head and stopped, then turned to his companions, muttering and pointing.

They passed by them, though Aylee turned to keep them in her sight, walking backward a few paces just to be sure.

Obi-Wan slowed and gestured at the map, zooming in. "Suddenly doubting yourself?" he asked idly, frowning up at the streets and buildings around them.

Aylee tore her eyes away. "No... doubting their intelligence, maybe."

She leaned in for a better look at the map and caught a glimpse of a wry smile illuminated on Ben's face as he counted streets. Satisfied, he motioned with a nod of his head and led them down a street that looked like a canyon of iron, dark and cold, save for small patches of light that must have been windows, though why anyone would bother Aylee couldn't imagine. Obi-Wan marched up to a small ramp leading down to a section of wall, consulted the dot on the map, and stepped down.

It looked like nothing—like a sheer, smooth panel on the side of a starship. Aylee joined him while he angled the map, using its light to see by. He squinted, then turned the map abruptly off.

"What—"

"I think..." Obi-Wan gestured at a panel and a small button on the not quite so smooth metal wall, after all. In the pitch blackness, the button gave off a dismal, anemic orange glow. Obi-Wan wiped at it with his sleeve, removing some of the grime, and with a shrug gave the button a press.

For a long, shivering moment, nothing happened.

And then a small section of panel dropped inward with a clunk and rolled up out of view.

Blinding light flooded the street, and Aylee winced with a hiss, shielding her eyes with her arm while she dropped the Force power.

"Obi-Wan Friend!" Merabax's low gravely voice greeted them, and Aylee blinked down at the dug's silhouette, squinting from pain as her eyes adjusted. "Aylee Friend." Bax rocked with a bow and then wheeled around, waving a gripping limb for them to follow. "Come, come!"

Obi-Wan scowled at the entryway. He was a good foot and a half or so taller than it was built for and had to hunch and fold himself to make it through. Aylee followed, her shoulder blades skimming the ceiling of the hallway as she bent. The interior wasn't what she had expected: cold metal and dark stone. Instead, the hallway was lined on either side with plush tan padding. Aylee brushed her fingers against it experimentally. It felt like nug suede.

Bright overhead lights cast odd shadows as Obi-Wan and Aylee's bodies blocked the light as they passed under them.

"Ithiko, he is almost ready!" Bax called back over his shoulder.

"What... do you mean?" Obi-Wan asked, struggling to keep up as the hallway got even lower, even less hospitable to human sizes.

Aylee chuckled and shook her head. She whispered on the loud side. "Dug hospitality requires that we be fed," she supplied. Then, _You mean you didn't know we were going on a dinner date?_

Obi-Wan stopped and twisted awkwardly to give her a look that melted into a shy, red-faced smile. _I'd have worn my fancy tunic._

 _They're all your fancy tunic._

She could feel his responding smile and continued shuffling down the hallway as it grew thinner and lower.

"Are you sure we're going to fit?" Aylee called.

"Guest room!" Merabax replied.

And true to his word, the hallway ended in round room that expanded both down and up. Obi-Wan stepped down in it and could almost stand at full height. Aylee emerged next to him and glanced up, rolling her neck and shoulders with room to spare. He smirked but didn't say anything.

They took seats around the low dining table, shuffling around to perch on top of the short padded stools that amounted to Dug furniture. The table barely came up to their knees, and after some fidgeting Aylee discovered that kneeling gave her both the most comfortable seat and best reach for the table. Glasses were already set out, filled with sparkling water. In a place like this, clean water was more of a status symbol than any alcoholic drink might have been. Booze came cheap, but _water_ , free of grime and pollution...

A small collection of fruit sat in the center of the table. Merabax watched her notice, and his lips turned in a smile full of both pride and pleasure.

"Please..." he said, gesturing.

These were not meant for decoration.

Aylee plucked a few pearl berries from the plate, breaking the code of Who Will Be the First. Obi-Wan followed her example, quietly observing Merabax for some signal as to what would come next.

What came next was a crash from the kitchen and a curse in Dug.

Merabax hunched and stared awkwardly at the doorway to keep from making eye contact. The tendrils from his snout twitched.

Obi-Wan frowned. "Is he all right?" he asked, hushed.

Bax took a labored breath, preparing to answer, but Ithiko stepped into the doorway bearing a plate in each hindlimb. He was darker than Merabax, more slate than gray granite, and wore tight-fitting clothes in vermillion—in every way more healthy and lively than when Aylee had last seen him. He set the steaming plates down on the table and took a step back to observe his guests.

"Masters Jedi..." Ithiko intoned, his voice free from the hoarseness of screams and his vowels rounder than Merabax's. "We are pleased to welcome you to our home." He interlaced his gripping hands and bowed his snout over them. "It is not much, but it would not be possible without your charity, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up. "Charity? I pay Bax well in our dealings, but it's not charity."

The Dugs froze, and Aylee felt a cold coin of social anxiety drop in her stomach. _No, oh no..._ Her pulse pounded as Ithiko's gaze slid to Merabax.

Before either Dug could react, Aylee held up her index finger, begging their patience, and made a show of pulling Obi-Wan closer to whisper in his ear.

"Merabax calls you Obi-Wan Friend. You don't know what the means, do you?"

He pulled against her grip, trying to look her in the eyes, but she leaned in closer.

"Your declaration of friendship is social currency. One they likely spent to get this house. In this context, charity means friendship not alms. Understand?"

She released her hold on his cloak, and Obi-Wan straightened, giving her a quick nod. He frowned down at the table for a second, composing his thoughts, and then looked up at Ithiko with a kind and clear gaze.

"I'm glad for any part my friendship might have played," he said and crossed his hands into his sleeves with a bow. "Thank you for having us."

The Dugs let out a their held breaths, and Aylee touched Obi-Wan's back briefly.

Merabax reached for one of the plates and set it closer. Aylee couldn't tell if the food was traditional Dug cuisine, but it smelled warm and spicy. And when Ithiko quickly returned with plates of spongy bread, she figured it was meant to be shared. Merabax took the humans' questioning eyes as a cue and took the first bite, demonstrating proper etiquette without anyone having to admit ignorance.

While they dined, Ithiko would slip back to the kitchen and produce another plate with food of a different color, and Aylee quizzed him on each: origins, methods, spices. He plumped with pride, and it made her wonder who he had been before Coruscant, before whatever had brought them here. Ithiko spoke Basic with an ease of grammar that Merabax lacked.

There was a story there. Written in their glancing touches and the way Bax watched when he fell from the conversation.

As the plates emptied, their chatter waned, and the true purpose of this visit hung in the silence. Ithiko slipped from his seat, a good host, and started to gather empty dishes. Obi-Wan cleaned his hands with a hot towel, focused and fastidious, and set it aside. He looked at Merabax.

"So..."

The Dug stroked the beard tendrils on his snout.

"You have something to tell me?" Obi-Wan prompted.

Merabax sighed and gestured in apology. "Is not much. The best I could do. I had no time. Needed... _something_ to make a deal..."

"For future reference, Bax, I'd have helped you anyway. I'm not cruel..."

Merabax shrugged. "I couldn't know. Our arrangement has... rules. But... here's what I hear. Someone is putting together an expedition. Big deal. Very quiet."

"Expedition where?" Aylee asked.

He shrugged. "Big secret. But! Whispers say... someone found ruins. They're looking for a Sith artifact. Very rare. Big money."

Aylee's spine straightened, and she looked at Obi-Wan with wide eyes. He lifted an eyebrow at Bax.

"A Sith artifact? You're sure?"

"Sure it's what they said. Sure someone's going after it. Bad people. Smugglers. Not sure what they'll find."

Aylee exhaled, her mind taking flight.

Ruins would mean a great many things. Holocrons. Histories. Valuable assets to the Archive. The possibilities of what they might find were endless. She could picture shelves of pulsing red pyramids, housing the thoughts and schemes of generations of Sith. Waiting for someone to find. For someone to decode.

Someone like her...

Her heart pounded as the thoughts spun, and she breathed heavily, shifting on the squat stool.

Obi-Wan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "This could be... very important Bax," he said. Then between them, _"Are you all right?"_

The buzz of excitement spread across her skin. _"Tell you later."_ And Aylee took a drink of water to wet her suddenly dry mouth.

They had to bring this to the Council. The Council _had_ to say yes to further investigation. But... but not if _she_ asked. They wouldn't if she asked...

Obi-Wan turned to give her a more concerned look.

Her thoughts spun faster, buoyed on the excitement that rushed through her body and made her bones buzz. She wanted to move, _needed_ to move, and applied concerted effort to staying rooted in place. Half-formed imaginations flashed through her mind. Planets. Locations. Possible finds. Presentations. Applause. Futures.

She lost track of any surrounding conversation and startled when Obi-Wan touched her leg, urging her toward the door, where Ithiko waited.

They were leaving. Leaving was good.

Aylee extricated herself and summoned the will to focus on Ithiko and Bax. Ithiko extended his gripping hands, and Aylee clasped them.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," she told him, bowing over their hands.

"Thank _you_ , Master Jedi, for all you've done." He bowed his head in return and let her go.

There wasn't space for one of the Dugs to show them out, so Aylee squeezed into the hallway and made her own way. She burst into the ink of the Crimson and marched away at something only barely less than a run. Power from the Force coursed to her vision on instinct.

"Aylee!"

The sound of Obi-Wan running.

Thoughts started and stopped with dizzying speed. Aylee clenched her hands into fists, then opened them. Close. Open. Close. Open.

"Aylee!" He caught up, falling in with his longer strides.

"I need to drive," she said, barreling down the empty, dark streets.

"Wh-" Obi-Wan made a lost, confused sound. "But there's nothing _to_ drive. We took taxis."

She walked faster, feeling Force rush at her legs and agitation burn under her skin. Go. _Go._ Go...

The passed the alleyway where their would-be attackers had lingered hours before. She caught a flick of movement. A flash of something. Aylee threw out her arm, across Ben's path, and hurled a Force push. It smacked against bodies, eliciting cries of surprise, and sounded like a gong as a dumpster slammed into the metal side of a building.

Obi-Wan gripped her wrist, hoisting her hand up as if she held a blaster. "Will you stop!" He looked strange, scowling and illuminated by the infrared heaters.

Cold air tore at Aylee's throat as she panted, panted. "I need. To drive," she told him, shaking with too much energy.

His expression shifted, and he loosened his grip. "We have to leave the Crimson first. All right?"

She nodded.

"All right?" he repeated.

"Yes!"

He let go, and they whisked toward the elevator back to the Orange District. Aylee didn't remember the journey. _Sith ruins._ Could barely recall standing on the elevator while her heart pounded out _Archive, Archive, Archive_. Oh... oh she needed to tell Tee. Right away. No! In person. He would understand. He always understood.

"Aylee!"

Obi-Wan calling her name again. She stopped and looked back at him while he jogged up the sidewalk under the glow of buzzing orange lamps. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved them up against the side of a building.

"Stay here," he said.

She scowled.

"Please."

"Why?" She looked around, trying to determine where "here" was. They were standing just below The Rancor Hutt sign.

"Because," he said, moving his hands in small circles on her shoulders. "I'm going to get you something to drive."

She stared at him, not quite comprehending, but nodded that she would stay. He disappeared into the bar. Seconds dragged to minutes dragged to hours, and energy crawled beneath Aylee's skin.

She said she would stay. She did not say she would stay _still._ The pacing was both the most she could do and just barely enough. So much to do. See the Council. They _had_ to see the Council. How would she survive a meeting with the Council? She needed a plan. A good solid argument. List of benefits. They couldn't possibly say no that...

 _"Hey."_

She stumbled to a stop and looked up. Obi-Wan quirked his mouth into a half-smile and crossed the sidewalk to meet her by the wall that separated the Orange District's streets from the plummet to the Crimson below.

"You weren't listening," he said, searching her face.

Aylee pressed her eyes shut, clenching and opening her fists. "I-I'm sorry. I-I can't—"

"It should be here in a couple of minutes," he said mildly.

She popped her eyes open. "What?"

He grinned. "The rental. I got you a speeder."

"You..." She blinked at him until he shrugged sheepishly.

"You said you wanted to drive."

Her jaw worked, trying to find something to say, to hold a thought long enough to make a sentence. "So... you..."

He motioned, pointing to a silver speeder dropping out of the sky into the port nearest The Rancor Hutt. Aylee blinked at it. At him. The energy coursing through her body turned to heat behind her eyes. She could have cried. She could have kissed him. She didn't know if he wanted that, now or ever, so while he stood there looking beautiful and satisfied with himself, she lifted her hands to his face, holding him for as long as it took to brush her thumbs lightly across the soft skin of his cheeks.

He closed his eyes and swallowed for the span of a breath.

And then they were apart again, striding for the idling speeder.

While Obi-Wan put his credit chip into the console, Aylee settled into the driver's seat. She strapped the safety belt on and touched the yoke, sliding her fingers around the cool, solid metal. The light on the payment console turned green, and Aylee engaged the shield around the cockpit. It glowed with silver light, closing them into a quiet, warming space, cut off from the Orange District's idiosyncratic buzz. As Aylee watched, Obi-Wan belted himself in and gripped the center console and door handle with white knuckles.

He caught her looking and offered an encouraging, nervous grin.

She huffed. "That's not why."

"What?"

She centered her attention, gripping the yoke firmly. "It's not... to pod race," she said, not knowing how to explain. She let her Force sense unfurl wider, searching for objects in motion, and then pulled the speeder up into an easy climb. The S-1 was closest and connected to a dozen other skyways.

Aylee relaxed into the seat, guiding them upward to the zipping traffic. She matched velocity by instinct and through sight and Force perception picked the perfect spot to slide into the continuous stream. She gunned the engine and swept up into the slow lane.

Traffic to her left sped by and she urged the vehicle over and onward. All around them lights of crafts, from buildings, blurred into streaks, and her senses danced from one point to another in constant assessment, constant calculation. Her focus split into multiple, steady streams, and she could feel the gears of her body slowing enough to catch one another.

"So..." Obi-Wan said mildly, willfully releasing his death grip on the speeder. "It's later..."

Aylee sighed and shook her head a little, keeping her eyes on the traffic. Anxiety and elation warred in her chest. "I don't think you'd understand..."

"I might. If you tell me..."

She adjusted in her seat and switched lanes to take the Cross Loop—a scenic route that wouldn't bring them to the Temple quite so efficiently. "A Sith artifact is... a huge find. Careers are made on finds like that," she explained. "You can go from obscurity to galaxy-wide notoriety with one publication."

Aylee glanced over and found him frowning.

"I wouldn't have thought fame would be important to you," he said, sounding puzzled.

She shook her head and pushed the speeder into a quick climb into the Cross Loop's outer lane. A large transport surged into her senses behind them, and she flicked them over into a slower lane, out of the way.

"It's not about fame," she said, still shaking her head. "It's about job security. Academia... it isn't built on truth. Not the way you think. It survives on trends and popularity. Being"—Aylee hesitated over the words and spoke them over a straining throat—"out of favor... means I'm at the bottom of everyone's list."

He made a sound to show he was paying attention. "I wouldn't have thought academics were so..."

"Cutthroat?" she offered.

He grunted in agreement.

"It's bad normally. But now?" She waved a hand vaguely at him. "I've broken one of their best Jedi—"

"I'm not broken." Obi-Wan's voice was hard and loud inside the small space, and they both fell into a brittle silence. He stroked at his beard, calming himself. "And I told you... my choice."

Spacescrapers reached for the stars all around them, and large advertising panels hovered at the inside of the sweeping arc of the skyway, leaving the outer vista clear.

"Yes," Aylee conceded, "but I gave you the options. And they'll know it. All it takes is crossing the line of being more trouble than I'm worth." She shook her head while cold gathered in her stomach and gurgled like illness.

When Obi-Wan spoke, it was a whisper. "You're afraid they'll send you back."

She scoffed. "I know they will. But if I can... _increase_ my worth, prove some value... Maybe..." She shrugged, and her hands went unsteady on the controls. Emotion welled up unbidden, and Aylee dropped them down below the traffic lane, letting the speeder glide to a halt. Her tongue felt thick and clumsy forming words. She'd imagined it so many times, so many sleepless nights. "Maybe... I don't get banished to the edge of the galaxy. Alone. Dying in obscurity in someone else's tomb..."

Heat and tears burned her eyes, and she pressed them to the heels of her hands. She didn't think... she'd ever said it out loud before. She shivered with the superstition that having formed the words, felt them being spoken, they were one step closer to reality.

Obi-Wan touched her shoulder, and she sniffed wiping the evidence of saltwater away. He slid his hand across her back and tugged her until she leaned his way. He placed a kiss gently on her hair.

Whispered, "Then I guess we'd better go find it."

Aylee tried to laugh, pushing the fear back down. She nodded, gathering herself in silence. Ben reached out over the bond, and she felt his presence across the shell of her being—hearthstones and campfires in a cold, long winter. She sat up with a deep breath and a long sigh and looked out the windshield.

"We'll have to start with the Council," she said.

Obi-Wan settled back into his seat with a groan of acknowledgment and disgruntled acquiescence. "Tomorrow?" he asked, making it sound like a plea. "It's been a... wearying day."

It truly had. With ease of practice, Aylee brought the speeder back up into the Cross Loop and aimed them toward home. After a long, relaxed silence, she glanced over to find Ben slumped in the seat, sleeping. He stayed that way while the vehicle fluttered between lanes, avoiding stalls and accidents, and only awoke when they were back on Temple grounds and the hum of the engine ceased.

Obi-Wan had sent the request to the Council to pursue the artifact.

The Council had summoned them both.

Aylee's hair tugged at her scalp with small pinpricks of pain from the severe, elaborate bun she'd had Tir-Zen put in. She swept a hand down her consular's tabard and glanced to her left, where Obi-Wan stood with his head slightly bowed, his expression blandly peaceful. She could count the number of times she'd stood before the Council on one hand. He seemed, by contrast, unperturbed.

 _"Come here often?"_ she thought to him.

His mouth turned up in a slight smile, and he lifted his head to stare straight ahead at the door to the chamber. Nothing, as far as Aylee could tell, had changed. But a moment later the doors swished open, revealing seated figures, a brightly lit room, and the Coruscant sky. Obi-Wan moved a fraction of a second before she did, and she had to quicken a stride to match pace. Together, they swept into the center of the Council chamber, stopped, and bowed low to Master Yoda. He acknowledged them with a lift of a hand.

Aylee waited, feeling the regard of everyone in the room press against her skin.

Slow inhale...

Slow exhale.

"Master Kenobi," Mace Windu inclined his head and smiled a little. "Good to see you're feeling better."

Obi-Wan bowed to him, letting his eyes drift to the floor. "Much. Thank, you Master."

Master Windu's heavy voice filled the chamber, a sonorous, lithe, and deadly thing. "Your request for leave and supplies intrigues us. We've heard nothing about new Sith ruins or any artifacts. Tell us, how did you come by this information?"

"From one of my informants in the Crimson Corridor, Master."

Mace nodded slowly with the dead expression of a statue. "And... your informant gave you this tip for free?"

"No... In exchange for clearing out a gang of slavers who'd been terrorizing the district."

"Slavers that Master Desai, Padawan Gil, and Padawan Skywalker ultimately apprehended."

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together and bowed his head. "Yes, Master."

Mace sat back in his seat and steepled his fingertips together. After a moment, he turned his gaze to Aylee, and she felt it like a brush of cold wind.

"Master Desai"—she bowed to him—"how is it that you were able to come to Obi-Wan's miraculous rescue?"

She could feel the mocking under the sheen of concern and struggled to remain unmoved. Aylee met his eyes when she answered.

"I felt it."

"Like... a premonition?" He gestured, offering this simple explanation to the room.

"Like a stab wound."

Master Windu sat back again, looking most intrigued, and Aylee felt cold sweat gathering along her spine.

"You mean, you felt his injuries, like they were your own?" He managed to sound concerned, even surprised.

Aylee's heart thudded heavily. "Yes."

"I see... And then what?"

There was a trap here. One she could not see, but truth was the only way forward.

"And... then I followed his presence in the Force to him."

Master Windu frowned, a genuine frown, and glanced down at Master Yoda off to his right. Master Yoda ignored him.

"His presence," he said, looking confused.

The Council all exchanged curious glances with one another, and Aylee felt a prickle rush down her arms.

"C-can you... not?" she asked, haltingly, checking around the room for reactions. More than a few stared at her with open surprise.

Master Windu inhaled sharply and sat up straighter, drawing back the floundering attention. "Can you feel everyone in the Council the same way?" he asked. It had the openness of an honest request.

Aylee hesitated, reaching with her senses toward the group around her. The signatures varied, but subtly.

"With enough practice, I could tell you apart," she offered.

"Tell us apart..." Master Windu sounded pleased, and Aylee felt her throat tighten. "In the same room."

She swallowed. "Yes." _Blast..._

"And yet"—Mace pressed his fingertips together and relaxed into his throne—"you found Obi-Wan halfway across a planet of one trillion people."

Drops of sweat slid down Aylee's back and gathered behind her knees.

"Yes."

Someone slammed their hand suddenly down on an armrest, and Aylee and Obi-Wan spun to face them.

Jocasta, the Head Archivist, glared daggers. "You stole a book from Special Collections! You're a _consular_!"

"Jocasta." Master Windu's voice held the thrum of command.

Aylee took an unsteady breath.

"You attacked an archivist!"

"Jocasta!"

Aylee's anger flared. "I saved his life!" She flung a hand in Obi-Wan's direction. "At least have the decorum to _pretend_ like that means something to you."

Obi-Wan dutifully added a hurt look in Jocasta's direction, and the old woman struggled for something to say to him that wouldn't sound profoundly cruel. She settled back into her seat, seething.

"You broke the rules," she said.

Aylee's eyes narrowed, and acid dripped from her tongue. "If you value rules over lives, you have a much bigger problem than missing books."

"No _you_ have the problem!" A new voice. Shaak Ti.

Aylee whirled again, exposing her back to Jocasta. The perfect offense. Almost like they'd planned it. No safe place to turn.

Shaak Ti scowled with imperious pride. "We are an _Order_. We _are_ our rules."

"You're wrong." Aylee's voice lifted, adamant. "We are what we do."

"And you! You spread discord. Chaos!" Shaak Ti pointed at Obi-Wan, whose expression darkened.

Aylee crossed her arms into her sleeves and dug her nails into her skin. She drew a breath, unsteady, and stared Shaak Ti down while the chamber went very quiet.

"Chaos, yet order, Shaak Ti." Aylee's voice sounded very calm, even to her. "Do you know what that means?" She didn't offer time for an answer. "Among many things, it's a reminder of perspective." The tugged-tight roots of every hair on her head pulsed with the thunder of her heart. "What can look like chaos up close is merely part of a greater order when viewed as a whole picture."

Master Shaak Ti adjusted her shoulders and scoffed. "A picture I suppose _you_ see."

Aylee shook her head, releasing her nails. "No..." she said gently. "The Force _is_ the order. I just trust in that."

Shaak Ti's eyes flashed when she realized the corner she'd been backed into. And so simply.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "I don't believe we're here to argue philosophy..."

"Master Mundi's right. Jocasta's point remains," Master Windu said, reasserting his authority, "that you hurt another Jedi."

Aylee regarded him with a cool, schooled look. "She recovered. They _both_ did. That seems like a win to me, in the end."

Mace stared at her a long time. Long enough that she could feel herself being stripped under his gaze. Long enough that her pulse quickened again and blood started pounding in her ears.

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together. He glanced down at them in thought, rubbing one thumb against the side of his hand like he was contemplating something. Aylee glanced at Shaak Ti, on Mace's left. She wore a small, smug smile that dropped the bottom from Aylee's stomach.

Master Windu looked up and met her eyes. "We know," he said.

That was all.

And it was a hammer against her lungs.

"Know what, masters?" Obi-Wan broke in smoothly.

Master Windu slid him a steady look. "What you two have been up to."

The muscles in Aylee's legs started to quiver. This would not be good.

Obi-Wan cocked his head, curious and innocent. "Well, Master Desai _has_ been teaching me an old game called chal'tek. Have you played?"

Shaak Ti gripped her chair hard. "The Force bond, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan cut her a sharp look and then took a quick glance around the rest of the assembled Council. None of them showed a glimmer of shock—a glimmer of anything.

"Not one surprised face..." Obi-Wan uttered it like a personal revelation. Then, growing louder, "Which is... _curious_... because _that_ phrase doesn't appear anywhere in the Archive."

Mace stared hard at him. "No, it doesn't. Because some things are too dangerous for everyone to know."

Aylee scoffed and dropped her hands from her sleeves. "Right, because bungling around blindly is _much_ better."

"This is not a trifling matter." Mace's voice could have cut stone. His glare came even closer. "Force bonds are dangerous." He took a breath and his expression shifted as he focused on Obi-Wan, softening to something like concern. "The information available to us suggests that if enough of us combine our strength, we could break the bond."

Shock sliced down Aylee's spine. "You wouldn't dare!" All eyes turned to her. "The Force _made_ it. If you break it, the backlash will be"—she searched for a word strong enough—"severe." They couldn't... they _wouldn't_. It was monstrous.

Mace arched one eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

Aylee blinked at him. At all of them. Could they be _so_ blind? Were these the greatest Jedi? The best the Order had to offer?

The fear in her bones and anger in her blood crystallized. She stared at Master Windu no longer shrinking from his judgment. "No," she said, slow and steady. "That's Force mechanics." Her voice sank on its own, deepening as the Force curled around her legs. " _This_ is a threat." The lessons of years past cascaded back into place. Righteous authority. Impassive command. She savored each word and slid forward with a smooth-muscled prowl. "If you hurt him, I will take... you... apart, with such dispassionate precision, you will _wish_ I was a Sith!"

"Aylee!" Obi-Wan's voice, scandalized, chastising.

She turned her head just enough to acknowledge him and retreated the half pace she'd taken. The utter stillness that had come over her mind and nerves weighed like a lead blanket.

Obi-Wan stared at her and stepped forward, taking the floor. "Masters," he said, bowing slightly around the room. "I appreciate your concern, but we _are_ stronger together. As my rescue has shown, we can communicate over great distances. We can share thoughts and images. And, most importantly, we can combine our strength in the Force." He glanced around, catching gazes briefly.

 _"What are you doing!"_ Aylee's eyes widened slightly and she cut him a look.

He ignored her, pressing on. "From our experiments, it's not additive. Our power multiplies into something far greater than either of us could achieve on our own." He paused while looking at Master Yoda. "With a new threat of the Sith on the rise, I don't think we can afford to let such an ability go to waste."

 _"Are you insane?"_

They hadn't test that. Hadn't proved that.

Ben stared the Council down with steady resolve.

Master Yoda's small mouth twisted with a frown.

Aylee's heart pounded out cold fear.

"But Master Obi-Wan, a force bond may pose a threat to the Order from the inside," Ki-Adi-Mundi nodded in Aylee's direction.

Her shoulders tensed as the Council's attention again tried to strip her bare, and her pulse pounded in her palms. "You're looking at me like I did this on purpose."

"You didn't?" Shaak Ti.

Aylee threw up her hands. "How! How would I know how to do something like this?" And she turned a scowl at Obi-Wan as she said it.

"I want to see these powers." Kitt Fisto finally broke his silence, and in the wake, the Council descended into a squabble over Aylee trustworthiness, the risks, rewards—

"Enough!" Mace raised his voice over all of them and gave Aylee and Obi-Wan steady looks. "I agree with Master Fisto. Let's see what you can do."

The Council ushered them to the North Hangar, where the Order's long range starships were kept. It was bi-leveled, with the upper deck serving as more long-term storage and maintenance bays. It formed a U shape around the hangar, with the center and main door open. The daily traveling vessels, including the _Night Vesper_ , filled the bottom floor in neat rows.

Droids scurried on and around ships, carrying tools and hoses, spare parts and battery packs. Some smaller maintenance droids scrubbed and polished their way across the ships' surfaces. The Jedi fleet, if it could be called that, had the look of a ragtag used ship lot. Very few were the same make or model. None the same color. They took donations and used whatever the Republic saw fit to purchase, in whatever year they saw fit to purchase it.

Master Windu came to a stop in between two rows of ships and waited for the Council members to crowd into a semi-circle around him. All eyes watched as Master Yoda _click, clicked_ his way in last and eventually took a spot at Mace's side. They exchanged glances.

"The test is simple," Master Windu said, directing his gaze to Obi-Wan. "Lift as many ships as you can." He swept his arm to indicate the hangar.

Obi-Wan bowed his head once and stepped away from Aylee and the circle of Jedi. He took a breath, and then a slower second one, and then flicked his right hand out toward the nearest ship, his index and middle fingers forming a slight V. The ship, a light, fast diplomatic vessel, shivered on its landing gear. The metal joints creaked as the ship's weight lessened and the springs and hydraulics overextended themselves.

The ship wavered like a newborn colt as it lifted off the ground.

Obi-Wan tensed, frowning, and angled himself to the next closest vessel—a Brayl-class cargo freighter that towered over every other ship in the hangar. A hundred meters in length, it was a wedge-shaped block of gray, scorched metal. The last escapee from a humanitarian mission to a volcanic world. Aylee felt her own body clench as Obi-Wan brought his focus to bear.

He held the tiny craft aloft and thrust his left palm toward the freighter. Something deep within the ship clanged, echoing out from its core. Obi-Wan lowered his head. Pushed harder. His arm started to tremble as the nose of the freighter lifted. The thrust chambers at the rear screamed against the floor, and Obi-Wan bared his teeth to bring the whole of the vessel up off the ground. He staggered, fighting to hold his balance, and turned his attention to a third.

This was all mind. With no gestures left to shape his will, he had only the power of his thoughts to aim at the next ship. He panted in deep, wracking draughts.

Ki-Adi-Mundi's personal starship shifted on its moorings.

"Don't—" Master Mundi reached out but cut himself off, withdrawing back into the circle of observers.

The ship shifted again in another direction, sliding across the floor with piercing screeches.

Obi-Wan's shaking got worse.

Master Windu pressed his lips together and nodded to himself. "That's enough, Obi-Wan."

With effort, he fought the weight of the ships just enough to settled them back onto the floor without dropping them. Even so, they thundered into place, squealing and hissing as the mechanisms took their loads properly once again. Without turning to look at anyone, Obi-Wan held his face in his hands for a second, breathing after the exertion, before combing his fingers back through his hair.

Then he turned to Masters Yoda and Windu, bowed, and returned to Aylee's side at the center of this little show. She might have offered him a smile except that he'd made empty promises on both their behalfs. Combined Force, multiplied power. How were they going to pull _that_ off?

She could've slapped him.

 _"Been a long time since I've done that..."_

She turned to him, expressionless, and he smirked.

"Master Desai," Mace said, that rich, booming voice. If he sneered, he masked it well.

Aylee startled at the call, pulled her eyes away from Ben to glance at Mace, and stepped out in front of the crowd, letting her hands slowly fall to her sides and that old leaden mask clatter to the floor. Her heart softened and opened to the mysterious sense that resonated with the Force. She felt the flow of the river around her calves, then knees, then thighs. Wading without moving. Icy sparks prickled along her arms.

She glanced at the diplomatic vessel and then widened her stance, planting her feet.

 _I am a stone..._

Her will hardened.

The Force pushed at her back, sloshing.

With a fluid motion, she shifted her weight to her right foot, swept her hand up into the air, and circled around, as though harvesting something back. She switched sides, flowing power back and forth between curved fingers and pressing palms.

 _Immovable..._

The vessel lifted from the ground with the same protesting squeal and hovered there, as though pinned. Aylee shifted her attention to the freighter, rocking with the motion of her peculiar control. Force splashed over her back and down her arm, spreading in a spray of sense and power.

She could feel the ship's hull, it's weight. Swept back... keep moving. Sway, divert, exert.

The freighter echoed with a metal on metal gong as the landing gear protested their lack of resisting weight.

 _Up_ , she thought. And the massive starship obeyed, floating gently upward as if lifted by a crane.

Ki-Adi-Mundi's ship was a small thing. Her attention alighted just long enough to displace its weight from the ground.

Behind her, the Council murmured.

Aylee grabbed for another, opening herself to the gushing rapids of the Force at her back. Power ripped down her arms, cold then hot.

A fourth.

She pressed her mouth to a thin line and started to shake with the effort of shaping the Force's flow. The fifth ship skewed on the first attempt, sending a maintenance droid crashing to the floor with a disconsolate whistle. Aylee's movements grew smaller, more precise as she held the image the ships in her mind and fit the new addition. While droids wheeled in from various directions, she lifted the transport slowly.

It shook as she shook.

 _Breathe..._

She panted. Needed to breathe while the power burned at her. She hunched and glared at the sixth vessel in the line, then closed her eyes and pushed her power toward it. The sleek Naboo ship tilted forward. Sweat dripped down Aylee's face as she grimaced.

She could do six.

She bore her teeth in a silent growl as the river of the Force battered at her body, made her knees weak. She wrenched one hand up with a cry, and the nose of the Naboo ship lifted up and leveled out.

One second.

Two.

She panted, not moving while she directed constant streams of power in six directions.

"That's enough," Master Windu said.

And then she had to figure out how to put them all down. Knots of a kind had formed, holding the painful power in place, like fingers clenched too long. She worked backwards, picturing the ships settling back into place, just as they had been. Each burden letting her ease some of the flow of power away.

When she set the diplomatic vessel back on its landing gear, she drew a deep, cleansing breath, and then turned to face Masters Yoda and Windu. Yoda's mouth twitched into a smirk. Mace's impassive expression read like a scowl.

"Very impressive," he said dully, not sounding impressed. "Now, let's see the two of you."

Aylee turned in place to glance at Obi-Wan, one eyebrow lifted in question. _What now, genius?_

 _"Trust me."_ His eyes glittered with pride and fondness.

"Oh, this one's all yours," he said, offering one of those small smiles.

Aylee ducked her head, half to escape that look, and stepped back into position.

 _"But what—"_

 _"Trust me. It'll be . . . like before. In your room. Use the power."_

Use the—

The sensation was . . . too breathtaking.

Despite being several paces back, she could feel Obi-Wan's glowing bright sun presence in her chest. Delicious homecoming, safety and charity. She felt exposed _feeling_ it in front of all those eyes, like their intimacy could be witnessed.

He applied a slight pressure. _Let me in_.

Aylee recalled his descriptions of the first connection they'd made and imagined the shell of her being softening from glass to gel. The thin film of separation, pressing, sinking minutely until dusk became the sudden dark.

Power surged into Aylee's body like she set on fire. She gasped, head thrown back, chest up, arms pulled back at her sides as though a beam from the sky would lift her upwards.

The world, the world exploded into colors and sounds beyond rational senses. A great torrent of Force roared into her limbs. Cold hot power drenched down from above. It formed runnels down her arms, ran rivulets from her fingers. If she tried to speak, it would bubble from her mouth and dribble down. Her eyes ran with tears of Force power.

She looked up through the hangar—to the sky. To the stars.

Thoughts not her own formed, apologies in sense memories. Flashes of thoughts. Images of her. Of places she'd never been. More apologies. And then a cloak settled over Ben's thoughts, obscuring them from view, and she saw through her own eyes again. Heard the stars singing. The Force roaring.

Behind her, small things—hearts—beat in different times.

They wanted . . .

They wanted to know _power_.

Wavering from the onslaught that blasted her skin to ice she looked up and around the hangar bay, through floors, building a picture.

Aylee looked down at her hands, dripping with the life of the universe, and she knew what she could and could not do. A mischievous smile loosed Force from her lips, and she dropped her hands to her sides. Palms forward.

All at once she lifted her hands high, a quick bid to rise.

And everywhere something screamed.

Ships and gears, hydraulics and droids, the bodies of vessels and the cracks in their spines. It was one sound. One shocked, glorious cacophony as every starship in the North Hangar jumped from its resting place.

Droids fell like bombs. Spare parts crashed to the floor. People, somewhere, shouted in dismay.

And the Force roared further.

She formed the image in her mind. Held all the vessels where they were.

Then slowly moved her right hand to wax a circle into the air. Then her left. Slightly out of sync.

Motion. Motion. The waves were the key.

She formed a new idea, a new image.

And as one giant carousel, the starships began to move. Effortless, effortless. Toys under her command. While the droids and maintenance workers ran for safety, she rotated the ships' positions, seeing them all at the same time, their distance from the ceiling, the floor, the wall. Oh the _perspective_...

Everything aligned to the image in her mind, and she held them all against the hammering at her back, the cold gnawing at her arms. As she lowered her hands, the starships drifted back down as a single unit, settling into place with scrapes and groans that pierced Aylee's ears like spikes.

Too much . . .

The colors . . . hurt.

Her breathing felt unnatural.

Too much . . .

The edges of her skin prickled, dissolved into the hot cold hot cold—

She squeezed at the force bond with effort, tapering the flow of power off. Her vision dulled. Then her hearing.

Until all at once, the flow of Force severed, and she dropped into her own senses with a loud exhale and stumble of disorientation. Behind her, someone grunted and hit the floor. She spun, dizzy, heart thundering in alarm.

"Ben!"

He was on all fours. Shaak Ti had one arm in her grasp, already trying to lift him to his feet. He glanced up at Aylee, smiling a little and panting. Shaak Ti shot her a glare and did not let Obi-Wan go until he struggled back to his feet.

"Well," Obi-Wan said between heavy breaths, bent so he could prop his hands against his thighs to recover. "How many?" He looked at Master Windu.

Trembling from exhaustion, Aylee moved a few steps closer. Mace gave her a look she could not decipher and glanced back to Obi-Wan.

"All of them," he admitted.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up and he stood straighter.

" _And_ she moved them around," Master Windu added, twirling his hand in the air.

Obi-Wan scowled, blinked at the newly relocated Brayl freighter, and then gave Aylee that same look of fondness and pride. "Showoff," he said.

She offered an unsure smile and dared to look at the Council arrayed behind him. Kitt Fisto drew a visible breath and crossed his arms.

"Well, I don't know about everyone else... but _I'm_ impressed." He gestured to the hangar. "None of us can do that." He looked at Mace. "Not even together."

Murmurs of agreement spread out around him.

Master Yoda stepped away from Mace's side, and Aylee felt her mouth go dry as he gazed at the both of them. "Dangerous, this is. But such are the times. Permission you have to seek the Sith relic." He lifted his staff and pointed the end at Obi-Wan. "Careful"—then Aylee—"you must be."


	17. The Plot Thickens

**OBI-WAN**

"Well..." Obi-Wan swirled a crisp, purple chega fry through a dollop of Dex's Secret Spicy Sauce. "That could've gone worse."

"I could've been excommunicated,"Aylee added helpfully, her tone light but eyes dark.

"Exactly..." He popped the fry in his mouth, crunching through to the soft, starchy center. He chewed and waited, watching her study the wine in her glass. Dex's wasn't exactly known for its fine vintages.

Obi-Wan shifted on the cheap vinyl seat and ate another fry with methodical patience. He couldn't tell if she was outraged, angry, or something else.

Finally, she lifted her gaze. "I can't believe you did that."

His eyebrows lifted. "What?"

"Don't what. You _bluffed_ the Council!"

Heat swelled in his chest and crested as a small smile. "I did." He speared a fry at her. " _And_ it worked."

"You had no—" She cut herself off and cupped the glass in both hands. Aylee drummed her fingers, glaring out the window for a second before turning back. "You had no idea that was going to work."

"I had _some_ —"

"How!"

"I felt it!" He shrugged defensively. " _And_ I was right."

She glared.

"Wasn't I."

Not really a question. The rearranged ships in the North Hanger were ample proof.

She very deliberately maintained eye contact while she stole a fry from his plate and ate it—which was ridiculous because he'd ordered it for both of them. After a second and a tiny frown of surprise, she glanced down at the plate with a sound of approval. The tension melted out of her shoulders, and she reached wordlessly for another bite.

"Besides," Obi-Wan said, talking to hide his smile, "I had every confidence."

Aylee huffed, trying a bit of the sauce this time, and then sat back, closing her eyes as she took a sip of wine.

That was better. Much better than the glaring had been. He'd thought perhaps the windlass winding in his stomach was bleed-over, but as they sat in a booth at Dex's, listening to the chatter of the midday crowd, he felt it cinch tighter still. A pain that felt like illness. Fullness and emptiness could both ache, and he did not know which this was—only that his body ached too much these last couple days.

He poked at one of the fries, pushing it deeper into the pile while the surface structure remained the same. His appetite dwindled, and he hunched over the knot.

"Ben?" Aylee said softly.

He glanced up. "What would have happened?"

A question crossed her expression.

"If the Council had tried to break the bond," he said. His hands felt strange, like clumsy clay, and he sat up so they'd fall into his lap. "What would have happened?"

Aylee rolled her lips in over her teeth, biting them a little as she set her glass down.

"Well..."—she shrugged—"it could have killed one of them. Caused blindness. Deafness. Or... it might have destroyed their Force sense."

Obi-Wan's spine went rigid, and cold shot down his neck. "What? They could've... lost their powers?"

She nodded, matter-of-fact.

"Permanently?" The frost of shock chilled his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

"Possibly?" She shrugged at him and started looking concerned.

He blinked and swallowed, staring at her slack-jawed. Cut off from the Force. Completely. How was that even possible?

"That severe?" He shuddered, unable to repel the memory, the feeling of his own faith fracturing while the Force still stirred at his fingertips. Without it... without any of it...

"Think of it this way..." Aylee said, drawing his attention. "The only way to do what they were proposing is to use their own Living Force and smash it against a construct of the Force itself."

He frowned at her. She bit her lower lip for a second, then plucked her wine glass from the table. She mimed holding a second one her other hand.

"It's like breaking a glass with another glass." She motioned crashing two of them together. "Depending on _how_ you do it..." She shifted positions, stem to lip, stem to stem. "You might change the severity, but..." She shrugged and set her glass back down. "You're still going to break two glasses."

Obi-Wan frowned at the glass and the wine swirling within. "I wonder if they knew the risks."

"They should. That's probably why so many of them would've been involved. Spread out the personal cost."

That made sense. And it spoke to the premeditation of the whole affair.

He picked up a fry and ate it out of habit.

His voice dropped, heavy as the stone in his gut. "I couldn't help but notice," he said, carefully wiping the oil from his fingers on a napkin, "that the Council was considerably more concerned with _my_ safety than yours." He glanced at Aylee.

Her mouth turned in a sad smile, and she shrugged.

That was the worst thing. The resignation in such a smile, the _acceptance_. The knot his stomach compressed so tightly it ignited.

"Even Master Yoda!" His voice shook as he tried to rein it in. "I can't believe he just sat there. Silent! While they—"

"If it makes you feel better, I do count him an ally."

Words caught in his throat while he stared at her and felt his heart pounding in his palms. "Who had not one word in your defense." He shook his head. Aylee lifted one shoulder in a shrug, a sad, compassionate look on her face, and he shook his head harder.

But then... hadn't the Council kept things hidden from them? Hadn't Master Yoda been complicit in that for... how many years now?

Was that the definition of an ally?

He shook his head and sighed, then propped his head in his hand and closed his eyes. "Say it for me?"

It took Aylee a moment to respond. Maybe a moment to figure out what he meant.

"Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge."

"Passion, yet serenity."

"Chaos, yet harmony."

"Death, yet the Force." He said the words slowly and felt an easing of the pain at his center as he ran through them again, silently, and felt the shape of them flow down his body and out to his limbs.

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and sat up straight, letting space and calm extinguish the ball of resentment. When he opened his eyes, he found Aylee watching over the rim of her glass, her eyes dark and deep, making him aware of his own edges, the tips of his fingers, the backs of his knees against the seat, the weight of his cloak on his shoulders as his chest moved with every breath.

"So," he said, needing to slice the air.

She lifted an eyebrow and set her nearly empty glass down. "So."

"All Bax's information really tells us is there's a black market expedition gathering somewhere."

"We need more information. And a way into that expedition."

Obi-Wan nodded, the wheels in his head spinning, and leaned closer. She leaned in to meet him. He smiled a small, wry smile that earned a quirked eyebrow and spoke in a whisper.

"I think I have a _terrible_ idea."

The elevator flew up fleet and silent, scaling the spacescraper in a streak of blue light.

Inside, Obi-Wan tugged at his tunic. Straightened his tabard. He made minor adjustments to the seating of the pouches on his belt and accidentally caught a glance of himself in the mirrored elevator walls. He paused, stilled with a measured breath, and let his hands fall to his sides as he stole a look at their escort.

The Cathar seemed not to have noticed.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan checked the other reflection, but Aylee had her eyes closed, and for the steadiness of her breathing may have been meditating. He let himself fall in with her for a few breaths, and then deliberately, without fidgeting, combed his fingers back through his hair, pushing it into something more rakish, something a little less formal.

Pressure shifted as the elevator slowed; Obi-Wan felt it in his stomach. Just a change in velocity, that's all that was. Their ride came to stop with a barely perceptible crossing over the threshold of motionlessness, and the doors swished open with an audible gust. The Cathar stepped out ahead of them, turned, and gestured to the interior suite.

"Shemba the Hutt will see you now," he said, voice lightly accented.

Obi-Wan bowed his head as he emerged and strode into Shemba's penthouse with Aylee trailing a step behind. In addition to their escort from the hotel lobby, another Cathar guard made his presence quietly known as they moved into the large, mostly emptied suite.

Shemba watched them coming. No pretense of having been busy, no _in media res_ interruption of her prior activities. She draped herself across a dais in the center of the space, with a clear view of the elevator, and _watched_ as they crossed the floor to come into speaking distance, her gold green eyes glittering. Intent. On him. She touched the shining necklace strung across her upper body. A different one, this time. Shards of metal like knife blades swelled toward the center, where a deep green gem caught and scattered the artificial light. The movement of her hands flashed with the presence of multiple rings and bracelets.

Obi-Wan glanced at them, and Shemba saw him glance, checking her adornments herself before pinning him again with a look of interest. Her suite had the same acrid odor of slime he recalled from the first visit, and he carefully schooled a non-reaction into his expression. He came to a stop with enough distance between them not to have to crane to look up and then bent in a deep bow.

"Shemba Hutt. Thank you for seeing me," he said.

Aylee stepped swiftly to the side and repeated his words.

"Jeedai Kenobi... I was surprised to receive your message," Shemba replied. She tilted her whole upper body a little, giving him a curious look, a lingering scan of his whole form. A hand stroked idly down her side.

He offered a pleasant smile—he was here to bargain on nothing more than good will. "Thank you for the flowers you sent to the medbay. That was very kind."

Shemba nodded and gestured to say he should pay it no mind. "You look well for someone with such severe injuries," she noted.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "How—" How had a member of the galaxy's most powerful cartel come to know privileged information? Well... wasn't that the whole point. Obi-Wan smiled thinly. "And here I thought _I_ was supposed to be keeping an eye on _you_."

Shemba smirked and then slowly licked her lower lip with slick, dark tongue.

After a pause, he spoke just to fill the heavy void. "Yes. It came very close."

The Hutt's leathery face fell into a scowl, and her huge eyes narrowed. "You would have broken your promise," she said, touching one of the blades of her necklace.

His promise...

Obi-Wan glanced at Aylee after she'd finished the translation, frowning as he replayed the first meeting, trying to recall their banter.

"The festival!" he said suddenly, glancing up at Shemba. He'd agreed to see her again the day of the Star Bloom Festival—ostensibly her reason for being on Coruscant. "Well..." he said, nodding in grave agreement, "that would have been an unfortunate consequence of dying."

As Aylee's voice trailed off, Shemba threw back her head and laughed. Her tail twitched and great bulk shivered with mirth. The knot of apprehension in Obi-Wan's stomach eased ever so slightly. As Shemba's tremors subsided, she tapped a ringed finger against the gleaming necklace with a small _chick, chick_ and gave Obi-Wana steady, soberingly intelligent look.

"You didn't come here to thank me for flowers," Shemba said, her low voice forming alien words, but eyes telling him everything he needed to know.

It had never been his intent to deceive. And that was just as well.

"No," Obi-Wan admitted, bowing his head a little. "I've recently come into some information through an underground source about an expedition, probably smugglers, aiming to loot a newly discovered Sith ruin."

Shemba blinked slowly at him, petting a metal shard.

Obi-Wan took a breath and plunged. "I need your help infiltrating this expedition."

Shemba's hand stopped, but her gaze remained steady, riches of gemstones with the stillness of stars.

"What makes you think I would know anything?" she asked. Aylee's inflection in translation didn't transmit innocence, just curiosity.

The longer he chewed on the answer, the more it would seem like a lie. He followed his instinct. "Because," he said, "someone with your interest in archaeology would know all the right people when it comes to a new discovery." He looked into one green gold eye, then the other. "You wield a great deal of power, Shemba. And you have connections in very many places. If my gutter rat heard about it, you most certainly have."

Shemba leaned her great body forward, wafting the scent of the slime. "You're trying to flatter me, Jedi," she said, with an easy, coaxing cadence even in Huttese. The heat of her breath washed his face.

Obi-Wan smiled a little and ducked his head, looking coy. "Is that a problem?"

After the pause of translation where they just stared at one another, Shemba reeled again with a great belly laugh and slapped a hand against her side. "And what do I get, Master Jedi, in return for my _generous_ help?" She ran her fingers along the blades of the necklace.

Obi-Wan watched her fondle the jewels for moment, then lifted his gaze. "What do you want?"

Shemba blinked slowly, regarding him. She ran a hand down her side and back up, a finger drawing idle circles on her flesh. Then, "Send your—"

Aylee stopped, and Obi-Wan gave her questioning look.

"She'd like me to leave," she said, frowning.

Interesting. That would leave them without a translator. Obi-Wan cut Shemba a look and found her watching their interaction with a critical eye. A test. Of... conviction? He gave Aylee a long look. Of his limits. He nodded toward her and then toward the door.

"Go..."

She didn't hesitate. Negotiations often took odd turns, and she had experience enough to let it play out. She bowed to Shemba and made her way quickly to the elevator.

 _"Send me anything you need translated,"_ she sent over the bond.

That would work, actually. He hadn't thought of it.

When the elevator doors swished closed and Aylee was well and truly gone, Obi-Wan lifted his eyebrows at Shemba. For all she could be aware, they were now beyond words. In reply, she twisted and indicated the penthouse balcony, a patio, really, with excellent views of some of the planet's finer buildings.

"Jee-jee kachay weeteebah," she said, sweeping her hand, and then lurched into motion.

The suite had a second level a few steps higher than the first, and from that sitting area, floor to ceiling glass walls that could slide open to allow roof access. Obi-Wan had expected there to be a ramp of some kind, but Shemba slipped easily from her dais and moved toward the steps. He kept pace and watched with bilious fascination as her body rippled with motion, enveloping the stairs and gliding on pulsing flesh. The obstacle was no obstacle at all.

He tore his gaze away and followed her out into a pleasant Coruscant twilight. Shemba's skin scraped against the stones of the patio with sandpaper slough as she moved steadily to the railing and angled to press her hands against it. A slight breeze ruffled Obi-Wan's hair and cloak as he stood sentinel at her side, observant and patient. He had extensive training in patience.

Shemba seemed to forget he was there, instead watching the traffic and pink sky.

Eventually, Obi-Wan leaned his weight against the railing, too, and let his mind wander. The silence lacked the gravity of menace, pulled taut instead by the ceaseless turning, turning of curious intent. Patience, he told himself, and faced a little into the wind.

He could not name the measure by which Shemba deemed their sky-gazing done, but after a time, she heaved back from the railing and twisted to face him. Obi-Wan turned with an easy calm to give her his attention.

A stubby hand darted for him, and he jerked away on instinct, not even time to form anger or shock.

Shemba froze, and Obi-Wan eyed her outstretched hand warily. He frowned, heart beating with the quick adrenaline rush of a fight not quite happening. The Hutt waited, gazing at him, letting him decide. Trust? Not? How much do you want this thing from me... A gust of wind blew his robe against the backs of his legs and made the sleeves snap like flags before dying again.

Obi-Wan eased back out of a ready stance and darted a wary look from Shemba's hand to face to free hand again. He breathed light and shallow while she took this as permission to move. Very slowly, she reached out and touched his face, cool, wet fingers pressing into a few days stubble. He shuddered, despite himself, and held very still while she ran her fingers from cheek to chin, steadily grinning wider when he did not pull away.

Satisfied, she reached for the flap of his robe on the left and peeled it aside. Hutts have short arms; she pressed very close. Her bulk towered over him, and the geometry nearly shoved the gemstone around her neck into his face. He recoiled as little as he could and glanced down at his hip, where his lightsaber hung.

A flash of insight. Embarrassed heat.

He swept his robe open with his own hand, and Shemba released her grip, slithering back while he exhaled, heart pounding. Obi-Wan eyed her as he unclipped the saber, a question written on his brow. Shemba rocked in something of a nod and followed with a gesture, both palms up, hands spreading. Proceed, it said.

Obi-Wan checked the patio around them for clearance and paced away with a chilling fire of disbelief sparking down his veins. He planted himself a safe distance from the patio's walls and furniture and doffed his robe with a flick of his arms and a roll of his shoulders. It cascaded silently to the ground in an artless heap.

He looked at Shemba.

She touched her necklace and watched with hooded eyes. The tip of her tail curled.

And then Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, the twang of its blade the only sound breaking the twilit night. The world beyond grew dim as the saber's blue glow filled his vision, and he could see Shemba only by the glints of her eyes.

He took a breath. Shifted his weight. And raised the sword to Defense Parry 1.

Cool lobby air washed across damp skin as Obi-Wan emerged from the elevator. He felt alive, muscles light and singing from heavy use. They burned now, would ache soon. Hair clotted with sweat clung to his forehead.

Aylee rose from a cluster of chairs and turned as he came closer. He aimed his brisk walk toward the doors, and she fell in at his side.

"Well?" she said. "What happened?"

Mirth tickled the back of his throat, and he shrugged, not breaking stride. "I showed her my lightsaber."

For a full step, Aylee said nothing. Then, "You _what!_ " She grabbed his arm and darted into his path, shoving her hand against his chest to bar the way.

She took in his state. Red-faced evidence of exertion, sweat. Obi-Wan swallowed a laugh as confusion, horror, and anger danced through her expression. She gaped, searching for something to say.

He could only meet her gaze a short moment before the mask started to slip, and a grin spread across his face. "Ataru 1 through 3, twice," he admitted, chuckling, "and Soresu 4. It's _fine_."

Aylee blinked, then shoved at him with a scowl. He laughed harder and started walking again.

"Enjoying your newfound prowess at flirting?" Only a little acid in the question.

A bit of pride pricked in his chest, and he cut her a looking, grinning. "Jealous?"

Aylee gave him a look and then focused on the exit.

He'd expected a rejoinder, and the silence gave him space to ponder, to study the expression she was trying to school while pointedly _not_ looking at him. It hadn't been a serious question. Not when he'd asked it. But the silence took on a sharp edge anyway.

Obi-Wan took a quick, long stride and put himself in Aylee's path, slowing her progress across the lobby with a gesture. He put his hands lightly on her upper arms, forcing her to look at him.

She frowned a little and averted her eyes. "I think I have the capacity for it," she admitted in a small voice.

He pressed his lips together and ducked to catch her gaze. "But do you have a need for it?" Affection warmed in his chest, and he wondered suddenly if he'd hidden it too well.

"Trick question," Aylee said, her voice bolder. "No one has a need for it."

He grinned at the forced playfulness of it. "That's not what I meant," he said softly, leaning down until their foreheads touched. He ran his hands down her arms and caught her fingers. The feeling in his chest burned hotter, spilling over. He let it bleed across the bond, and Aylee gasped a little, pulling back to stare at him.

Obi-Wan ducked his head, coloring, and turned away, letting her go. Aylee trailed him out through the doors of the Hotel Manarai and down the causeway to the speeder bays.

"Are you going to ask me what I got in trade?" Obi-Wan called to her.

She hurried a few steps forward. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"What did you get from Shemba?"

He grinned. "A false identity we can use."

"Just one?"

Obi-Wan's steps slowed, and he swallowed. "Just one," he said. "And... it's for a Zabrack."

Aylee grabbed his arm and spun him to a stop. "It's _what_?"

He held up his hands. This part was never going to go well. "I'm sorry. The only identities she had ready-made were a Rhodian, a Bothan, and a Zabrack. We lucked out—"

"Lucked out?"Her glare scorched.

"These things take time! If we'd had to make our own, chances are we'd miss the window!"

Her chest rose and fell with quick, heated breaths. "Tee... You want to send Tee. Into the field."

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. "You don't think he can do it?"

"He's never—" She spun away for a second, gathering her control before facing him again. "He's never _been_ in the field," she said evenly.

Tir-Zen was almost ready for his Trial. Obi-Wan had toppled governments by that point, and suddenly the isolation of Ossus took on new color. He chose his words carefully.

"Now is as good a time as any. He's smart. Capable..."

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "He's going to love it."

"And we'll be close by, in case anything goes wrong."

Doubt lingered in her dark eyes, but at length she nodded and looked for their speeder among the row. "Well," she said with a heavy tone, "I guess we'd better go tell him."

 **AYLEE**

A long, exhausting day led to a deep, welcome sleep of unremembered dreams. Aylee shifted under the sheets, the regular pattern of her breathing jostled by the sound of Tir-Zen's door shushing open. She rolled with heavy limbs and blinked her eyes open enough to see his silhouette cut into the apartment interior by the blue glow of something he held at his chest. On a wraith's feet, he made for the door, his white underclothes a ghostly, shifting shape. Without a backward glance, he slipped out into the hall and dropped the room back to a semblance of darkness, with the lights of the like moonlight through the windows.

Aylee blinked and rolled again, burying her face into a pillow that melted to her contours. As quickly as she'd come awake, the heavy drape of sleep pulled her under.

Her eyelids fell effortlessly shut.

And a moment later agitated shaking scraped her back into the waking world. She jerked from the hand with a surge of alarm before realizing the strange sound in the darkness was Tee's voice.

"Master..." He hovered, one hand still ready to shake her shoulder again.

Aylee's heart pounded, pulsing in her hands. She stared up at the shadows of his face and edged up to sitting, pulling her breathing back under control. Tir-Zen was waiting for something, _not_ speaking, and she knew from many nights when he was a boy, frightened by the shadows of Ossus, what he was was asking. By the set of his shoulders and the thin line of his mouth. Aylee curled her legs out of the way to make room, and with a long exhale Tir-Zen sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with something in his hands. Warning scratched at the back of her neck. Her padawan didn't frighten easily these days.

She hesitated, giving him a chance. Then, "Tee..."

"I got a call," he said quickly, gesturing with the device. An imagecaster. His breathy voice sounded strained. "From Ujjwala."

Aylee frowned at him, trying to get a read on his expression from the slash of dull light across his cheek. "Ujjwala..." She repeated, hoping the sound would trigger something.

Tir-Zen lifted his eyes, their color strange in the dim, silvery light. "The girl—the maid from Besk."

 _Besk_... Aylee hummed a sound as she recalled teasing him about this girl.

"It's not _like_ that," Tee said, scowling. He licked his lower lip and let his gaze fall. "Her grandmother died."

Perhaps her first response should have been sympathy, a pang of regret for a life lost. Instead, Aylee tilted her head, watching him. That was curious news. Of all the things she might have expected him to say about a girl, that hadn't been high on the list. "She called you in the middle of the night?"

Tee turned a long, distressed look her way. "It isn't night there," he said flatly.

Right. Of course. Interplanetary time was an impossibility.

A line formed between her brows as she conceded the point and resisted the urge to blame it on being suddenly, regretfully awake. But still the point remained. A family member died, and she chose to call him. Aylee studied him. "I didn't think you'd gotten to know one another that well," she said gently, in case he really _had_. She'd been so busy during their trip, perhaps—

He shook his head and swiped a hand down his face. "No, it..." He let his hand fall and gave her a long, tired look. "She contacted me because I'm a Jedi, and she thinks there's something... not right." He frowned, and Aylee's expression mirrored him.

"Tee..."

"You think it sounds crazy," he rasped, and his grip tightened on the imagecaster.

"I didn't say that."

"I have a bad feeling..." he insisted.

Cold shot up Aylee's spine, and she leaned forward. "A premonition?" Gently. The hairs down her arms rippled to standing.

He shook his head. "Nothing that clear."

But enough to make him wake her in the middle of the night... Aylee eased back against the headboard as the fog of sleep cleared a little more. "But why contact you? Besk isn't in the Republic. We have no jurisdiction."

"I know. I told her, but... she thought you might have some sway. After everything you did."

Tir-Zen sighed and tossed the device on the bed before rubbing his face with both hands. He bent with weariness, and Aylee gave him a few seconds of silence to himself.

"How long did you talk?" she asked him in hushed tones, as though the walls could would tell his secrets.

Tee dropped his hands to his lap. "Hours," he admitted.

Aylee stretched toward him enough to put a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed lightly, and he dipped his cheek in the direction of her fingers.

"She said the death was in a strange part of town. It didn't seem right."

"And the police?" Aylee asked, drawing back. She propped her palms against the mattress by her hips.

He shook his head. "Not really looking into it. Even worse, they were keeping the h'ringa from going to her office. She said that was strange. _And_ upsetting. And that when they finally did get access things were missing."

Another jolt of cold crawled across her scalp. "What things?" The words slipped out.

"I don't know."

"You said 'office.' Do you know what her grandmother did?" She could taste it now, the mystery, the holes in the web of information. Questions, thoughts gathered a stormcloud in her mind, charged with the need that spoke to long nights and brittle pages.

Tir-Zen's face fell. "I'm sorry, Master. She was so upset—"

Aylee lifted a hand to quell him and sighed. She scooted her legs out from under the covers and abandoned any lingering hope of getting back to sleep. Tir-Zen got himself out of the way and stood.

"Master?" He sounded confused.

Aylee shook her head. This was preposterous. What could _they_ do on Besk?

"You think it's worth looking into," she said, not exactly a question.

He hesitated. "I don't—"

Aylee cut him a sharp look and crossed her arms, gazing up at him. The energy of the chase fluttered beneath her ribs. "What do your instincts tell you?"

A frown deepened on his face, turning his tattoos into a mask of rage. He paused, thinking. "To do something. To believe her."

Aylee nodded once. He wouldn't have woken her up if he hadn't thought there was something to pursue. "Contact Ujjwala," she said, pacing to her closet. "Tell her Obi-Wan and I want to talk to her."

After a stunned pause, Tir-Zen replied, "Yes, Master," and a few seconds later his door swished open and shut.

 _"Ben..."_ Aylee turned her inner eye toward the steady glow of his presence in the Force and pulled on a pair of pants. She pressed on an edge to door of her closet, and it hinged inward, revealing a row of identical tunics. Nothing stirred across the bond. _"Ben!"_

She felt a drawing sensation like a gasp and then, _"Well, that's disconcerting."_

Her mouth tugged into a grin.

 _"Come to my room."_

Aylee pulled a tunic on over her head, struggling to get the sleeves right in the darkness.

 _"Is... this a personal call?"_

She froze mid-motion, and the tunic slipped down into place from gravity. Aylee felt her cheeks heating. She cleared her throat, though he couldn't hear it, and tried to turn away from the yearning pressing at her sternum.

 _"No,"_ she sent him and slowly reached for her tabard. " _All business, I'm afraid."_

Her fingers tightened into the soft material while she concentrated, searching the bond for a cue of some kind. Relief. Regret. Did he _want_ it to be personal? What _did_ he want?

 _"We're on our way,"_ came through clarion and uncolored, and she stood, staring into the darkness feeling the passage of a disappointment rimed with nostalgia for a daydream. When the feeling cleared her belly and her bones, leaving melancholy in its wake, she tied her belt tight and crossed to the small kitchenette, turning up the lights with an errant flick of a hand and a frisson of Force.

Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived not long after, robes wrapped haphazardly over underclothes. Aylee gave Obi-Wan a quick, scanning glance and arched an eyebrow at him. He shrugged innocently, looking young and tousled, and like _someone_ had just pulled him from a restful slumber. His hair looked ruffled, sex-tossed— Aylee cut the thought with a smirk and stepped back into the dimmed apartment gesturing to the cluster of couches and chairs under the window.

They all shuffled about in silence, Obi-Wan and Anakin taking seats with their backs to the darting lights of Coruscant traffic and wrapping their robes around themselves. Aylee poured hot water into a clay pot, counting the seconds to measure. Satisfied that her ratios were right, she set the pot on a tray and surrounded it with four small cups. By the time she crossed the apartment, the steeping would be done.

It was too late—or too early—to do this without _something_ , and Ben seemed partial to tea over caf. She'd promised once to forgive him eventually.

Tir-Zen hadn't come out of his room, and Aylee gave the door a glance as she carried the tray to her guests. Obi-Wan... watched. As she bent to set the tray down on the low table, her hair swaying down to hide her face, she _felt_ him watching. Quiet and curious. A light, grazing touch across her hands, down her body. She kept her eyes on the tea, setting a cup before him, holding the lid of the teapot carefully on with two fingers as she poured. Glancing up through the tendrils of rising steam.

Electricity conducted through that gaze. Pale, pinning blue, and her heart skipped. He grinned a little. Ducked his head. _"Obi-Wan Kenobi. Nice to meet you..."_ she thought and swallowed down a smile of her own.

Anakin shifted, reminding her of his presence, and Aylee poured him some tea as well. He bowed very formally, exaggerating his motions, and Obi-Wan let out a huff. He glanced around the apartment, still dimmed in deference to the hour, then gave her a steady look while he lifted his cup.

"Going to tell me why we're here?" Obi-Wan asked.

Aylee sat in a chair off to his right and drew a breath to answer—

Tir-Zen's door swished open, and he hurried out, fully dressed, carrying his imagecaster in his palm.

"Master," Tee said with a quick bob. "Master Obi-Wan."

Aylee gestured at the clear end of the table, and Tir-Zen set the device down. He pressed a button on the side, and the image of Ujjwala flared into being, filling the room with a blue-white glow.

Anakin gasped. "Is that a Loxan?" He leaned in for a better look, wide eyes bright with reflected light. Then he scowled at Tee. "I thought you said they were big!"

Obi-Wan sputtered over his tea and shot his padawan a quelling glare. Tir-Zen's mouth started to form a reply before he just shook his head. He took a remote from his belt and increased the projection from the imagecaster to nearly life size. Even though the image only held the Ujjwala's upper body, she towered above them, her trunk swaying back and forth with quick agitation.

Tir-Zen lifted an eyebrow at Anakin, and the boy curled silently into his tea cup, peering over the rim.

"Ujjwala," Tee began, moving into the visual range of the hologram, "you remember my master, Aylee Desai, and Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan leaned forward, adjusting his robes. "I apologize for my padawan, Anakin."

Ujjwala's big ears flapped as she turned her attention Anakin's way. "He's like Tee?" she asked, her voice deep and resonant.

Aylee suppressed the bark of a laugh in her throat into a thin smile.

"Uh," Obi-Wan gave it a bit of thought, trying to decide what "like" meant in this case. "Yes..." he said slowly, though he clearly thought the subject needed elaboration.

Before he could give it one, Ujjwala nodded definitively and looked at Aylee. "Many blessings on your h'ringa, Consular," she said.

"What—" Anakin started, but Obi-Wan lifted a finger to his lips with a scowl.

Aylee shifted to the edge of her chair, and Tee took it as his cue to sit.

"Ujjwala," she said. "I know you've been through this already with Tee, but can you please tell us again what happened to your grandmother?" She glanced at Obi-Wan and found him watching the hologram intently, face washed with harsh light.

The Loxan curled her trunk, holding her eyes shut for a few seconds while she nodded. "My grandmother," her sonorous voice quavered as she spoke, "she died two days ago in a speeder accident..."

"And... you contacted Tee about this," Obi-Wan asked.

The girl nodded. "Something is wrong," she said. "Suspicious."

Aylee tipped her head. "Why?"

"The street! It was wrong."

"Wrong..." Aylee narrowed her eyes, shaking her head in confusion.

Ujjwala drew a breath, her ears flapping.

"Tell them slow," Tir-Zen said quietly, earning a steady look while the girl's twitching ears flapped... flapped.

"She should not have been on the street where they found her," she said, pronouncing each word as though it were a foreign thing, as though she'd tried telling this to children a hundred times. "Chulak is largely a Tusk city, but there are Plainswalker areas. My grandmother, she would have no reason to leave them. The part of the city they found her in... it's very far from any place she'd have reason to go."

Obi-Wan frowned a little. "But... couldn't she have had a reason that day?" he asked it gently and set his cup of tea down.

Ujjwala cast Tir-Zen a fretting look and pressed her ears close to her head. "You don't understand. That's just one thing—"

"So there's more?" Aylee leaned forward.

Ujjwala nodded and focused on her. "The investigation..." She shook her giant head. "It was all wrong. Consular, you must understand... the case is already closed!" The girl gripped one short tusk, and her lashing trunk slowed. She took a breath.

"That's suspicious?" Aylee asked, a hedging, leading tone in her voice.

Ujjwala dropped her hand and nodded. "Loxan justice is slow. The only people who see quick resolutions are the very rich or the very poor. Grandmother—"

"Her name?"

"Geetha. She was neither of those. We thought... we thought it was strange. The justicars were so certain it was an accident that there was no need for a real investigation. But when the h'ringa tried to go to her office and collect her things, they kept us out! Why? We argued with them, but they wouldn't tell us anything. Not _why_ we couldn't go in. Not _when_... Justicar business, they said. What 'business' if she died in a speeder crash?"

Obi-Wan stroked at his beard, nodding along. "What can you tell us about her office?"

Ujjwala lifted her broad shoulders in a shrug and curled under the tip of her trunk. "It was just an office... at the University of Rackna."

Aylee met Obi-Wan's gaze— _"Cutthroat academia?"—_ and his expression twitched into intrigued agreement. "Ujjwala..." he said, "what did your grandmother do?"

The Loxan tilted her head, curious, surely, why it mattered. "She was an archaeologist."

The blood in Aylee's veins crystallized, and she stared at Ben while the shiver flashed across her skin. He arched one eyebrow very high and sat back. Aylee swallowed, throat suddenly dry as thoughts started to spin in the back of her mind, that familiar flutter of metal-tipped wings. It reached her skin with an itch and a need to move.

"What..." She frowned as the cogs clicked, a fuller image emerged. "What was missing?" she asked, peering up at the girl.

Ujjwala froze, staring at her. "How..." She paused and glanced at Tir-Zen, who offered a proud, contrite little smile. "Her journals," the girl replied. "When the justicars finally let us in, we found all her journals from the last year were missing. It was a small box. Just one of many. My grandmother made recordings every day, and her office was full of these boxes. Who would miss just one?"

With a look and a feeling, Obi-Wan took up the thread. "What do you know about your grandmother's work?"

Ujjwala blinked at him and frowned. "Not much... It was always a bit of a secret, and she never talked about it. Last month she was away, off-world, on a trip, but she did that a lot."

The storm cloud gathered in her chest loosed a bolt, and energy rushed up Aylee's back and down to her fingertips. Archaeology. _Archaeology_. It couldn't possibly...

"Do you know any of her coworkers?" She perched the fingers of one hand on the table and leaned in more, the scent, the possibility that the Force had—

Tir-Zen jerked upright, nearly standing as his back arched. He fell to his knees, cracking one leg against the table, almost flipping it as it scraped across the device with Ujjwala's image went flying.

Several things happened at once.

Anakin launched himself after the device.

Aylee lunged for her padawan.

Obi-Wan was on his feet by pure reflex.

"Tee!" Aylee gripped his shoulders as they knelt on the floor.

Both Tir-Zen's eyes were squeezed shut, and he rocked with the unsteady spasms of someone being beaten.

"What's happening? What's _happening_?" Ujjwala's low voice squeaked out in alarm. "Tir-Zen?"

Anakin clutched the imagecaster in his hands and set it back on the table so she could see them again.

Tir-Zen's closed eyes darted back and forth. A vision. His breathing quickened.

Aylee felt Obi-Wan edge closer, but he said nothing, just watched with wide, concerned eyes.

Tee started shaking. No—struggling. Shifts of his torso in the mimicry of trying to get away. Aylee let him go, her own heart pounding, and sat on the edge of the chair to let it play out. His face twisted into a grimace, and then he doubled over, like a flag with abruptly no wind.

For a long moment, nothing happened. And no one spoke. Held breaths.

 _"Is he..."_

Tir-Zen gasped and unfurled, panting as he reached out blindly. Aylee gripped his hand, and he focused on that first, staring at the grip. Then the dawning realization of where he was and with whom. He panted, shaking a little, and levered himself up onto the couch without letting go. They all carefully resumed their seats.

"Tir-Zen?" Ujjwala whispered, her big voice shrunken with fear.

He took back his hand from Aylee and gripped the edge of the couch instead. "Did—" He swallowed. Deep, calming breaths. "Did your grandmother know a Besalisk?" he asked slowly and gazed at the washed out hologram.

Ujjwala blinked dark eyes at him, ears pressed as flat as they would go. "What was that?" she asked, her tone so intimate the rest of them might not have been there.

Tir-Zen shook his head and closed his eyes. "Just a vision."

Her trunk curled under. "It looked terrible..."

His shoulders sagged, and he looked up at her. "Wala..." Gently. "The Besalisk."

"I—" She flapped her ears in irritation and started to shake her head. "I don't—" Ujjwala stopped herself, then gestured at them. "Wait, just wait..." Then she disappeared out of the range of the holoprojector.

Aylee watched her padawan compose himself, release the death grip on the furniture, straighten his clothes, and with a guilty glance at Obi-Wan and Anakin, pull the table back into its proper place.

"Don't know what you're worried about," Obi-Wan muttered, "I'm not even dressed."

Tir-Zen ducked his head with a grin, his shoulders relaxing.

"Seriously?" Anakin's pent up good behavior exploded, and he flailed in Tee's direction. "We're not even going to—" He paused when Obi-Wan turned a glare his way. Huffed. "He had a seizure!"

"It wasn't a _seizure_ ," Obi-Wan said calmly.

Anakin planted his hands on his hips and stared at Tee. "It _looked_ like one."

Tir-Zen sighed. "I get visions sometimes," he said, shrugging one shoulder. It had the air of apology.

Anakin stared at him a moment longer, then looked slowly at his master. "Is that gonna happen to me?"

"I don't know..."

He looked at Aylee. "Does it happen to you?"

"No, I—"

"Okay!" Ujjwala announced, and her bulk suddenly filled the room again drawn in bright blue light. "I have this," she said, and held a flat, rectangular datapad out toward them.

Aylee frowned. "What is it?"

The girl checked the image and looked at them skeptically. "It's a picture from Geetha's office wall. It was taken at a convention." She held up the slate again, but nothing transmitted through the holographic display.

"Describe it?" Obi-Wan added helpfully.

"It's... a celebration photo with what looks like a team of people. They're hugging each other. Waving. They all look tiny next to grandmother." She lowered the pad slowly and looked at Tee. "One of them is a Besalisk."

Tir-Zen pressed his hands over his mouth and nose and looked for a moment like a man in prayer. Then, he swept Obi-Wan and Aylee with that shocking, orange gaze.

"I have a very bad feeling about this," he said. Then to Ujjwala, "You should let the investigation drop."

"What?" the Loxan's voice hardened.

"Tee..." Aylee watched his face. "What did you see?"

He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the table. "A Besalisk asleep in bed. Then... darkness. Suffocating." He took a purposeful breath. "I fought, and I _tried_. But I couldn't—I couldn't breathe."

A fresh wave of chill swept through Aylee's body, and her heart squeezed. The seizure they'd witnessed... that was a man dying. Tir-Zen's body trying to fit sensations from extra limbs into nerves it didn't have. She slipped from her chair onto the couch next to him and laid an arm across his shoulders. He leaned in wordlessly and looked up at Ujjwala's image filling the space above them.

"Please..." he rasped. "You have to let this go."

"Let this go! I called you for help!" Her ears flared forward. "I called you because no one here will listen! Because my grandmother—"

"Your grandmother was murdered!" Tir-Zen strained his voice to shout and surged to his feet. "And so was someone else from her team." He clenched his fists. "What happens when you find out too much? When you ask too many questions?"

Ujjwala's ears edged back toward her skull, and she ducked her head. Her trunk curled in a corkscrew.

Aylee felt Obi-Wan press against her through the bond and turned to look at him. He wore a grave expression, and she could read in his eyes both the worry and determination. No need for words. She stood and turned to Ujjwala.

"We need to see that image of yours. Put it someplace safe, someplace no one but you could find it, and then go stay at a hotel for a few days."

"What?" the girl's gaze darted between them all, and she started stroking her trunk, a gesture of self-soothing. "A hotel? Over—over a photo?"

"Is it possible," Obi-Wan broke in with that calm, steady voice of his, "that your grandmother had been researching Sith ruins?"

She stopped stroking her trunk to look at him. "I-I'm sorry. I don't know."

"That photo," Obi-Wan gestured at her, "may be the only evidence of who else was on that research team."

"We need to come see it," Aylee added. "And we need _you_ to be safe until we get there."

Ujjwala nodded.

"Understood?"

 **OBI-WAN**

The _Night Vesper_ had made the jump to hyperspace hours ago, and the ship hummed in steady, automated flight. Tir-Zen and Anakin busied themselves with a droid Tee had been working on, trying to stabilize its anti-grav booster for proper levitation. Obi-Wan had spent the better part of two hours watching them drop the thing repeatedly on the lounge deck floor. Aylee had quietly moved to the cockpit. Obi-Wan thought _someone_ should be there to intervene with an electrocution, but then, Tir-Zen wasn't Anakin, and his own watchfulness was wearing his patience thin.

He stepped down the ladder to the cockpit, wincing as the droid crashed to the floor yet again. The sound was duller here, at least. Aylee had her heels kicked up on the control panel and a cup of caf steaming in one hand. If not for that, she looked asleep.

Obi-Wan settled into the copilot's seat.

"It's not coincidence," he said quietly, watching the streak of stars out the front viewport.

Aylee creaked one eye open. "No."

He scowled. "But then _how_. How does this come so perfectly timed?"

Aylee kicked her feet off the console and looked at him. "Because something's happening. And everything is connected." She shrugged. "It's the will of the Force."

 _Will?_ Obi-Wan lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Doesn't a will imply consciousness?"

Aylee watched him and sipped slowly from her cup. There was something sad in that look, something regretful, like she'd rather not answer. His steady gaze won out, and she glanced away briefly to assemble a reply. "The Force is made up of living things, many of them conscious," she said, and met his eyes. "Should I believe that it's less than its parts?"

He frowned and sat back, slinging one knee over the other. "So, what? Predestination? No free will?"

She grinned at him, shaking her head lightly, warming to the game. "The opposite. _All_ free will. Yours. Mine. Everyone's, all smacking against one another in inevitable, inescapable connection. The will isn't..." She searched for a word, almost spilling caf from her cup. "A desire. It's all those inescapable connections pulling on one another, which _will_ have an effect."

"But a _random_ one, if no one's planning it."

She made a high pitched sound of disagreement. "Random within limits."

He narrowed his eyes. "Chaos, yet harmony?"

She hummed and grinned into her cup, something pleased and appreciative dancing in her eyes, and the droid upstairs smashed into the floor again with a dull thud.

The landing dock on Besk was different from the last time. They weren't going to see the Damarque, no officially sanctioned visit from The Republic paving their way. Porvela Control granted them passage to an industrial dock that hadn't been turned to rubble. While Obi-Wan piloted them in, Aylee sent a com to Ytan.

The _Night Vesper_ 's hydraulics hissed as the ship settled, and the four of them stepped out into the hot Besk morning. The industrial docks rang with machinery, clamping scraping metal. The roar of ships powering up filled the air with a sound felt in the bones. And everything was so, damn, _big_.

Obi-Wan peered up at the ridiculous scale of the freighters unloading around them as the backwash from the ships whipped his cloak around his legs. A Loxan waved at them from the far end of the path from their dock to the terminal, and Aylee raised her hand in reply. The expanse took forever to cross on their small, human legs, and it felt awkward keeping Ytan waiting, just watching them walk.

When they came into speaking range and Ytan's great height made them crane their necks, the officer flourished with his trunk and bowed—a gesture Aylee copied back at him. Anakin's jaw hit the concrete as he stared, and Obi-Wan exchanged an amused look with Tir-Zen over the boy's head. Without speaking, Ytan gestured for them to follow him into the terminal and turned to lead the way.

As the massive doors slid silently shut behind them, peace descended, and Obi-Wan felt almost empty from the sudden absence of vibrations through his body. If not for the sound of Ytan's breathing, he might have thought he'd gone deaf.

"Consular," Ytan said, slowing and shortening his stride, "I was not expecting to hear from you, but your message sounded urgent."

Aylee nearly jogged to keep up with him. "We got a call from one of your people requesting our aid."

Ytan lifted a fleshy eyebrow at that and motioned for her to go on. Aylee relayed what they knew from Ujjwala, and the party came to a stop just outside the doors to the speeder bay. Ytan sighed through his trunk, letting out a gust of air that fluttered the Jedis' cloaks. His giant ears flapped lazily.

"I'm not sure what I can do for you, Consular. I'm captain of the Damarque's guard. Local crime isn't my jurisdiction." He sighed again. "But... I can think of a few places to make inquiries."

Aylee smiled up at him. "Thank you, Ytan."

His trunk whipped in a small spiral. "The bombs have stopped falling. It's the least I could do. Plus, this girl _does_ work at the palace. If she's vulnerable, that poses a security threat." The corner of his mouth lifted in what Obi-Wan assumed to be a smirk.

"It's only due diligence," he added, and Ytan turned toward the door with a vibrating snort of amusement.

Tir-Zen gave him the name of the hotel Ujjwala had sent, and they all piled into Ytan's unofficial vehicle. He might be captain of the guard, but he was out of uniform and using his personal transport. Either he was acting officially and trying to make it appear otherwise, or this was a personal favor. Obi-Wan wasn't sure which was the better option.

Ujjwala had booked herself a room at the Grand Saras on the outskirts of the city. Being far from city center, it had been spared the bombings, and so rose like blown glass from gleaming green gardens. The base of the building was that same brutalist style, but where it would allow, spires swelled into graceful bulbs with windows running the full circumference. Penthouses, Obi-Wan thought, with an excellent view of the natural grasslands beyond the hotel's gated wall.

The guests milling about the lobby stopped and turned as the human retinue entered, no doubt filling the air with their peculiar scent. Trunks lifted in their direction. A young Loxan reached for Anakin, and he skipped aside, bumping into Obi-Wan.

"They're just curious," Obi-Wan muttered at him.

Anakin gave him a dubious look and clung a little closer, eyeing the Loxans who stared at them with twitching trunks and slowly blinking eyes.

"So they have to smell me?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan told him mildly. "They do."

Anakin tugged his cloak and lifted his chin, like he wasn't going to be intimidated by a bunch of _tourists_.

The desk clerk had just as much trouble talking to Ytan while trying to stare and sniff. She stumbled over getting the guest's name and kept looking at Aylee. Her trunk started to creep toward Aylee's exotically blond hair, but Ytan made a sound that shook the air, a sound too low for a human to hear. It made the hairs on Obi-Wan's arms stand, and the clerk slowly drew her trunk back with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders. Aylee stop studying the architecture and blinked at the Loxans in confusion.

 _"You're a temptation,"_ Obi-Wan told her, and she spun to stare at him, her expression melting into a flushed smile.

Oh. He hadn't meant—

Heat crept onto his cheeks, and he grinned back.

Or had he?

Did it matter?

"Tir-Zen!" Ujjwala's voice startled them both, and they all turned to see her emerge from the elevator.

Tir-Zen broke from the pack and strode toward her, lifting a hand in greeting. She pressed the tip of her trunk to it, and then looked with widening eyes at Ytan.

"Captain?"

"Ujjwala..." He extended his trunk toward her, and they looped them together in a loose embrace. "I'm very sorry."

She nodded and let the grip slip. "Are you... What are you—?" Her ears pressed back against her head.

"Helping," he rumbled.

The girl flicked her trunk in his direction and drew a breath. Whatever a Loxan could read in a scent, she seemed satisfied.

"There's something I need to show them. East Plains Bank."

Ytan bowed his head. "I'll drive."

The humans sat in the back, two to a seat: master and padawan, naturally. Obi-Wan glanced over. _Temptation_. What was he thinking? His pulse throbbed with remembered embarrassment. But that wasn't the whole of it either, if he was honest. Was sunlight a temptation? Clean water? Fresh air?

He felt her presence cool and soothing against his face and turned away, so he wouldn't be caught staring. Anakin sat strangely sober and quiet at his side, not even bouncing his dangling heels against the seat.

The bank had far fewer customers and therefore much less stunned staring than the hotel. They followed Ujjwala and the bank manager into the vault, and with a biometric scan, she brought out the image they'd asked her to protect. The frame holding the image was electronic, but with no net capacities. Aylee, Tir-Zen, and Obi-Wan leaned in to get a better view while Ujjwala held the frame.

"Definitely a Besalisk," Obi-Wan said.

Aylee nodded, studying the other team members. No one wore any name tags. Nothing that would make them easily identifiable. She glanced up at Ujjwala. "We need to make a copy of this."

The girl nodded, and Aylee motioned for Tir-Zen to take over. Anakin nudged his way closer, and they let the boys figure out how to copy the digital image onto Republic technology.

"Ytan," Aylee said, motioning him over. "I know it's not your jurisdiction, but—"

"You're worried for the girl."

Aylee nodded, her expression pulled grave.

Ytan rocked his massive head slowly. "It may be," he said, "that some of my guards have earned extra leave..."

Sly smiles crept across their faces.

"Whatever this is," Ytan went on, "I don't want any more of it on my planet."

"Whatever this is," Obi-Wan told him, "we intend to put a stop to it."


	18. Ring of Kafene

It felt like a full day had passed since arriving on the Loxan homeworld, and yet the sun was still high as they loaded into Ytan's speeder and headed back toward the spaceport. Besk days unwound slowly, like the opening of a flower, and it pressed a seeping strangeness into Obi-Wan's skin. The hot sun beat down. Even with the speeder shell up, the Besk winds would have carried dust and strange scents from landscapes he could not see. Unless, of course, it carried rain.

While they idled at an intersection, Anakin peppering Ytan with questions about the three-limbed controls, Obi-Wan lifted his face to the sky and inhaled. _Ozone_ , he thought. A coming storm. Absurdly, he imagined giant raindrops the size of a fist pummeling down from the sky.

The speeder lurched, knocking Anakin off his feet in the front passenger seat with a warbling cry. Obi-Wan cut a look at Ytan's profile, wondering just how on purpose the jolt had been. The Loxan betrayed nothing, and Obi-Wan found himself smiling as they gained speed.

Duty done, Ytan bid them safe journey at the spaceport terminal and left the humans to walk the acres to their craft alone. Instinctively, they gathered together, as transports hovering at skull-height whisked back and forth to ships and warehouses. The compressed heat of the engines of the ships in port burst sweat from Obi-Wan's knees, and he grimaced. The _Night Vesper_ looked like a toy, a shiny trinket for a Loxan child amid the behemoths.

Even Anakin stuck close until they were safely aboard and out of danger of being stepped on.

Tir-Zen dropped himself into the pilot's seat automatically and swiveled to look at them. Obi-Wan slowed to a stop at Aylee's side, while Anakin closed the ramp and outer door.

"We need to run this image through the Republic's databases," Aylee said, tapping the datapad against her palm. "Tee, find the nearest Republic system."

"The Ring of Kafrene," Anakin's young voice sounded from behind them.

Obi-Wan and Aylee turned as one to look at him, expressions blank with shock.

Anakin scowled. "What? I can read a star chart!" He crossed his arms.

"Well, yes, of course," Obi-Wan said. "But just off the top of your head?"

Anakin rolled his eyes. "We were going somewhere new. I wanted to see where it was."

Aylee gave him an amused look. "What's the Ring of Kafrene?"

His eyes got big. "A mining colony. At least, at first. Now it's a city _so big_ that it connects two asteroids! Can you believe that? Both sides meeting in the middle! It's _galactic_."

Obi-Wan turned to hide his laugh and looked at Tir-Zen. "Plot a course?"

Tir-Zen bobbed his head. "Yes, master." And took them easily up out of Besk's atmosphere and into a jump to hyperspace.

Kafrene lay hours in the future. For a while, Obi-Wan sat in the cockpit listening to Anakin recite fantastic tales of Kafrene murder mysteries. He used to hear the smugglers on Tattooine tell them, trying to outdo one another in bids for work. Aylee had disappeared up the ladder into the lounge, and just as Anakin finished the Tale of Three Rhodians and a Wookiee, Obi-Wan got up to investigate.

He topped the final step into the small lounge and paused. Aylee sat on one of the bench seats molded into the wall, staring at the datapad in her lap. Her brows pulled together in concentration, and she just stared, not even seeming to breathe. He couldn't tell what she was doing and tread lightly to her side. She made no outward sign of noticing him.

He sat, close enough to touch.

She stood and moved a step away, not looking. Not acknowledging.

It was a lance to the heart. A swift and sudden rejection. Piercing pain. He stared at her a moment, dumbfounded, hurt bleeding into his veins.

"Aylee," he said softly, a lilt of anguish, and stretched out a hand. What— They'd been fine all day. Talking. Working. _Partners_.

She stood frozen, except for her eyes. They lowered from the datapad a little.

He swallowed, feeling the empty space beside him, the sudden chasm beyond his fingertips. "Please, don't," he said.

She blinked, and then lifted a long, wary gaze his way. Obi-Wan let his hand fall and confusion write itself across his face. Aylee clutched the datapad to her chest and very deliberately took her seat again. Their legs and knees touched, and Obi-Wan shivered, sparks from the contact shooting across his skin. He glanced up, seeking her eyes.

"You're angry with me," he said, though he couldn't fathom why.

Her sad smile and shake of the head made his heart thunder. Worse? Worse than anger?

"What do you want?" she asked him, less curious than pleading.

Want? "You mean beyond saving these people and finding an ancient and valuable Sith artifact?"

Another forlorn, _understanding_ smile. "Beyond that."

Obi-Wan stared at her while his heart thumped heavy in his chest, beating out warnings. _What do I want?_ He sat in the quiet space she'd made and let the feeling he'd been holding back grow and take shape. It was a question that might never end. A question in which she had a personal stake, and he could feel the shadow of it on his face.

"I want..." He delved inward, feeling the last few days as furrows carved into his bones. The loneliness. The emptiness that working and whisking across the galaxy could not fill. The betrayal, keen and cauterizing during the quiet moments—the reason he tried not to have quiet moments. "I want to know _why_ ," he said finally, whispering the words. "Why force this lie on all of us. I want to know what it's all for!" Anger flashed suddenly in his gut.

Aylee laid the datapad on her lap and folded her hands over it, avoiding his gaze. "Control isn't enough?" she asked.

 _Power._ She meant power. "No," he said, anger burning his throat. "I want a reason." He clenched his fists. "I want to know if—" The next words caught, choking, unspeakable. He willed her to look up. _Look up..._

Aylee looked at him, reluctantly. A piercing gaze, a calculating one that his anger made him tremble beneath. She looked for a long time. And as it stretched, he realized he too could see something more, something new. Something that strained on her face and behind her eyes, belying the calm and steady exterior.

She nodded a little. "You want to know if they're right."

The tension of anger snapped, and he could feel his throat open, spilling things he'd never put to words. "What if I can't be trusted? What if... they _are_ right, not for everyone but for me?" He took an unsteady breath.

Aylee adjusted in her seat, turning to face him fully, and he endured the torturous quiet of her regard while her expression fell. Somehow, he felt like he'd failed.

"You don't trust yourself," she said quietly.

He shook his head. "I don't know who I am without the Temple's teachings. Who I might be." What if he harbored evil inside? What if once he took a step off the path it was one quick slide?

Aylee lifted a hand, sliding her fingers up his cheek with chilling delight, before cupping his face. So gentle a touch expelled the air from his lungs, bringing him to that edge of need. She gazed at him. Into him. And when he took a breath, drawing in life and lightness and cool air, it felt like relief spiraling through his body. Still she looked with dark eyes and quiet confidence.

"You're afraid," she said.

He nodded, scraping the stubble on his cheek against her palm. _Real_ Jedi were not afraid. "Yes."

She nodded back and let him go, withdrawing again across that distance.

Aylee looked down at the datapad in her lap and touched the surface. "I was trying to concentrate on them. Trying to have a vision." She huffed humorlessly at herself. "Turns out the Force doesn't really work that way."

The _Night Vesper_ dropped out of hyperspace, the Ring of Kafrene filling the portscreen. Black steel tendrils like spilled ink splashed across the surface of two kissing asteroids, binding them together. Lights dotted the structures, outlining vague shapes against the black of space. Buildings grew like stalactites from the surfaces, straining for one another across the void. Some met, slowly fusing the rocks into a single whole.

Tir-Zen glanced up over his shoulder where Obi-Wan and Aylee stood watching.

"Cool," Anakin crooned quietly.

Obi-wan quirked an eyebrow at him. It was, if nothing else, and impressive feat of engineering. He couldn't decide which direction would be up or down. Where the gravity generators would be located. The core pillar, maybe? But then the buildings were all extending the wrong way. Surely they wouldn't have centered one in _each_ asteroid, leaving some gravity barrier somewhere in the middle where up became suddenly down.

"You're frowning," Aylee said.

"It..." He tilted his head. "How do they..." He frowned a little more.

"Tee, take us in."

He nodded and glanced at Anakin in the copilot's chair. "Hit the com beacon." Then, with another glance, "Anywhere in particular?"

Aylee shook her head. "Wherever looks... most populated."

If the Kafrene spaceport had any questions about Jedi consular ship arriving, they kept it to themselves. Tir-Zen executed a smooth landing, and they all pulled up their hoods before exiting the ship.

Foul, metallic air assaulted them, and Obi-Wan pressed his sleeve to his face as his boots hit the plastoid landing platform. It stung at his eyes. Ammonia.

Anakin groaned out loud, and Aylee and Tir-Zen coughed and slowed their pace.

A Rhodian stevedore stood motionless on the platform, watching.

With a grimace, Obi-Wan lowered his arm slowly, choking down the deathcloud air.

"Don't touch the water..." he wheezed, and they all turned hooded heads to look at him. "If it's in the air, it's in the water. It'll burn."

A look of alarm crossed Aylee's expression and she turned toward the black steel terminal, her gaze lifting upward to the spires of the asteroid above. Obi-Wan urged them all forward.

The Rhodian took a step in their direction and slowly crossed his arms.

 _Great..._ Obi-Wan thought to himself.

The Rhodian's posture shifted toward menacing, and Obi-Wan touched Aylee's arm lightly before breaking off in the alien's direction.

"Jedi..." The stevedore lowered his head in a nod of acknowledgment. "Welcome to Kafrene."

Obi-Wan plastered on a smile. "Thank you. It's... unique."

The Rhodian's mouth worked a little, an expression akin to a nasty grin. "It has its charms."

"Oh indeed." He crossed his arms. "And are you one of those charms?"

"Could be. Kafrene has... a bad reputation, too. You might want to be careful."

The smile slipped from Obi-Wan's face, and he counted at least two weapons on the dock worker without dropping his gaze. Slowly, he pulled aside his cloak to reveal the pouches on his right hip, watching for a reaction. The Rhodian didn't reach for his blaster, at least. Obi-Wan withdrew a few credit chips and rolled them around in his hand.

"Since I'm new here," he said easily, "perhaps you could help me?"

The saucer-like antennae on the man's head swiveled. Rodians were hard to read because of the full oily blackness of their eyes, but Obi-Wan imagined he was looking at the credits.

"I could..."

"I need access to the datanet. High speed connection."

The man turned to glance at the Kafrene skyline of colored lights piercing a sheet of black. And then he laughed.

"You and every sorry piece of shit on these rocks, boss."

"So there isn't any?"

"Oh... there is. But it belongs to the company."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "In a place like this?" He rolled the credits around in his hand again. "Surely there's someone more accommodating I could deal with."

The alien barked another laugh. "You could always try The Vratix."

He spoke "the" with a capital letter, like there was only one on all of Kafrene.

Obi-Wan extended his hand and turned his fingers, dropping the credits into the Rodian's waiting palm. "And where can I find The Vratix?"

He shrugged. "Wherever it is today."

Obi-Wan glanced at the pocket where the Rodian just slipped his newly earned cash and then back up to the stevedore's eyes. "I expect my ship will be well taken care of." It wasn't a question.

With two fingers, the Rodian gave him a little salute. "No worries here, boss." He made no motion to leave, so Obi-Wan had to turn his back to rejoin the waiting group. It was a predictable little power play, and there was no harm in letting him have it.

Aylee, Anakin, and Tir-Zen stood clustered on the causeway, their faces hidden by the depths of their hoods. As Obi-Wan neared, he saw Aylee's robe jostling with a regular rhythm and realized, as she turned to look at him, that she was fidgeting one knee.

"Well?" she asked, in a voice he thought seemed sharp.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, who was facing the wrong way, staring at something back toward the dock interior.

"Well..." he drawled, distracted by tracing the boy's gaze across the docks to garish, glowing graffiti of a Teevan woman. Her silver skin sparkled in impossible contrast, her naked body rendered in shockingly accurate detail—Obi-Wan stepped in front of his apprentice and looked at Aylee. "I don't _think_ he'll steal our ship.

Anakin leaned.

Obi-Wan edged.

"And, there are two places we can find a high"—leaned the other way—"speed connection that would"—Anakin lifted onto his toes—"Anakin!" Obi-Wan finally burst out, startling the boy into looking _at_ him instead of around. He glared down a protest and found Aylee staring at him with a look of thinning patience. "Two places with a high speed datanet connection," he said in a rush. "The mining company or someone called The Vratix."

"A Vratix?" She looked surprised.

" _The_ Vratix," he amended, and her eyes narrowed.

"Local crime boss?" Tir-Zen asked, and Obi-Wan nodded at him.

"Or something like it."

"Fine," Aylee said, and turned on her heel. "Then let's get to the mining company." And she started off at a quick clip.

"Wh— Aylee, wait!"

"What?" She stopped just as sharp and looked at him. Her impatience threw him off balance, almost as much as her distance, but he couldn't tell if it was personal, pointed.

"I... was thinking it would be faster to talk to The Vratix," he said, keeping his tone mild.

"Faster," she repeated. "Than... just asking? Do you even know where he is?"

"Well... no"—she started walking again—"but everything is for sale with a shadowbroker," he said, striding to catch up. "A few credits and we'll have what we need. Simple."

"Or... we can just ask a legitimate company in good standing with the Republic to let us use their terminal." She gestured vaguely at the towering structures above them, reaching for each other through the dark of space.

Obi-Wan frowned up at the gnawed husk of asteroid. "And you think they'll just say yes?" he asked, unable to keep the doubt from his voice.

Aylee shook her head and charged through the bay doors separating the docks from warrens of Kafrene's interior, balking as a strong blast of ammonia slapped across her face. Obi-Wan sucked a startled breath and buried his face in the sleeve of his robe for a moment as the stench lanced through his skull and brought tears to his eyes. He huffed in shallow, careful breaths and slapped a hand through the air until Anakin moved a shoulder beneath it and let himself be found.

"Well I think..." Obi-Wan said, wheezing while he got used to the assault on his sinuses, "that the shadowbroker will be faster."

Aylee swiped at her eyes. "How would you even find him?"

He shrugged, a mischievous sort of delight building behind his ribs. "Be conspicuous."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. _We'll_ go to the mining company. _You_ be conspicuous." Then she plucked at Tir-Zen's sleeve and motioned to a holodisplay just below the sign for the docks. A map of Kafrene rotated above the console, flickering in and out of existence, and Aylee and Tee stopped to examine it.

"Master?" Anakin said, pulling Obi-Wan's attention away.

"Hmm?"

His padawan smiled. "I'm _really_ good conspicuous."

This particular Kafrene dive bar, Obi-Wan noted, made brightly colored cocktails, and he flew face-first into several on his unceremonious way across a table before a quick, sharp drop to the floor. An ache burst across his jaw, and the cut on his cheek stung from the splash of alcohol. His hands burned from the impact with the gritty floor. All around, grunts of surprise and anger rippled through the crowd as people and aliens scattered.

Obi-Wan huffed a breath against the floor that blew back hot in his face. He rolled onto his back, blood pumping with excitement, and threw a force push on instinct, before his conscious mind registered the offended Farghul's claws coming for his face. The push hit squarely, sending a snarling ball of fur and tail clear across the bar. Obi-Wan hopped to his feet with a graceful flip and raked a hand back through his hair with a small, feral smile. He had _watched_ the man cheat at two rounds of Horansi. Anakin had it recorded.

Surely the other players deserved to know?

Surely The Vratix would like it known that _his people_ were keeping gambling legitimate on Kafrene.

The Farghul shoved a few patrons out of his way as he staggered, heaving, back into view, long, tufted ears twitching with rage. "Jedi..." he snarled, thick tongue lapping against fangs.

"Guilty." Obi-Wan shrugged and shook his hands out loose at his sides. He bounced on the balls of his feet a little, like preparing for a good run.

A clawed finger punched his way. "The Vratix doesn't employ Jedi."

He smiled wider. "Are you sure? Maybe he's moving up in the world."

The Farghul glowered and feinted a rush, then started stalking as though he expected them to circle one another in the close quarters.

"You," Obi-Wan went on, holding his ground, "however, are a cheat. And I'm fairly sure"—he glanced at a crew of aliens with arms and tentacles crossed, a few hands on blasters—"you owe _them_ a lot of money."

The Farghul sneered, tail lashing. "What do you want?"

"Oh..." Obi-Wan shook his head and straightened. "I don't think it's what _I_ want that counts." He motioned with his chin toward the cheated gamblers. "It's them you'll have to satisfy..."

He took a step back.

A silvery Echani latticed with thick scars took his cue and led the clutch of gamblers a step forward.

 **AYLEE**

If she hadn't known better, Aylee might have easily mistaken the streets of Kafrene for the Crimson back on Coruscant. Same sleek black walls of metal. Same dark, steam-strewn streets, only Kafrene kept the heat on through radiator pipes that expelled their energy into the thin atomsphere before snaking back into the mining and refinery machines slowly eating the asteroid alive. Aliens and humans crushed close in the dark canyons, avoiding each other's eyes.

Aylee kept finding her gaze lifting upward, above the spacescrapers, to the stalactite buildings that hung from the other pole. She wondered about the gravity. Were they upside down? Was she? If she climbed higher, would the artificial gravity lose it's grip? Could she jump so high she'd start to fall?

She ambled forward in the crowd, while Tee watched and directed. A nudge here, and touch there to bring her focus back to the ground. She didn't smack into anyone, mostly through his efforts and—she suspected on reflection—a few well-placed suggestions laced with a bit of Force.

One tower stood out among the others. Polished to a silver bright shine, Toktaan Mining's headquarters announced itself boldly in the skyline. Lights placed along its height ensured that from anywhere in the Ring, it could be seen glowing against a backdrop of dark space. It looked cleaned. Maintained. It looked like wealth.

Toktaan was a Corellian name, Aylee noted as she stared up at the sign emblazoned across the tower.

A squeeze on her elbow snapped her gaze down to street level, and she turned sideways to slip by a food cart without breaking stride.

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Tir-Zen asked.

She smiled at him. "It's a big tower. Can't miss it."

"That's not what I—"

"I memorized the map," she told him. "Two more streets, then we go right."

Tir-Zen clung close as they navigated, and Aylee tried to keep her attention from wandering to the strange sights and errant bits of conversation in languages she didn't get to practice first hand. Eventually, the canyon opened like the mouth of a river into a square that any place else might have held sculpted lawns and art displays. On Kafrene, they found elegant stone fire pits with smokeless blue flames lining a path up to an artificial waterfall.

Aylee slowed to a stop.

"It's beautiful," Tee said quietly. No one from the streets joined them in the square.

Aylee nodded vaguely, her attention draw to the waterfall. "The ammonia in the air would get into the water," she said, starting forward.

"So?"

"So..." She gestured at the display. "There's no natural water source in an asteroid belt."

"And they're wasting it."

She nodded once, pleased. "And they're wasting it."

Tee grunted in a way to show his displeasure, and they rounded the waterfall to the steps of the tower proper. Aylee led the way, a datapad with Ujjwala's image on it tapping lightly against her thigh with each step. The glass doors of the office building swished open, welcoming them into a white and blue interior more fitting in Coruscant's Senate district than this dark corner of space. Aylee felt like a smudge on their polished plastoid floor.

The receptionist failed to keep his face impassive, and he clearly thought the same thing of two figures in cloaks the color of dirt. He cleared his throat, and Aylee lifted her hood back. Tir-Zen did the same, and the man's eyes lingered on his tattooed face and horns.

Tee winked, and, flustered, the man gave Aylee his attention.

"May I help you?"

"Consular Aylee Desai. I need to speak to someone in charge."

The receptionist's eyelids drooped to a hooded, professional boredom. "I see. Well, you'll have to make an appointment..." He turned his attention to a computer and tapped a few keys. For a moment, Aylee thought he was going to say more, perhaps offer how they might make an appointment, or with whom, but it seemed they were dismissed. She placed her palms very carefully on the desk and tried a second time.

"I am a Jedi Master here on official business, and I will see whoever is in charge."

The receptionist turned a skeptical eyebrow her way.

"How do I know you're a Jedi?"

Aylee removed one hand from the counter, and a second later, her lightsaber blazed to life with a familiar, satisfying twang, the tip coming to a stop a few centimeters from the man's cheek. He froze and stared at the golden blade for a moment before looking Aylee in the eyes.

"I'll... send you up to Mr. Ulbe's office. He's... VP of Operations. I assume that will suffice?"

Aylee flicked her saber off, and the man sagged with an audible exhale.

"I assume so," she said with a tight smile. "Thank you."

The receptionist bobbed his head and waved at a bank of elevators. "T-the lift will take you up."

With a curt bow of her head, Aylee turned and headed to the elevator.

 **OBI-WAN**

The Farghul, it turned out, had friends.

The gamblers also had friends.

And within the span of the two steps Obi-Wan took back toward the door, an intricate web of alliances had every patron in the bar poised to fight. Obi-Wan glanced around the interior for Anakin, who really _did_ have a recording of the cheat.

Someone's blaster flashed, and Obi-Wan ducked out into the street. The ammonia struck him—rods shoved through his nose into his skull—and he closed his eyes for a moment to recover.

Then, "Anakin!" he called and swept the dark street for a familiar form. Humans and aliens moved in protective clusters beneath artificial blooms of light, and he stepped out in the moving masses. The bar was on a corner, and there was another entrance. Obi-Wan slipped around the lumbering workers, his eyes darting for a glimpse of sandy hair or dark cloak, and rounded the corner.

"Hi, Master!" Anakin called, standing perfectly still except for a small wave of his fingers.

A Duros clutched him across the chest with one arm and held a knife to his throat with the other.

Obi-Wan slowed to a halt, his eyebrows lifting.

"There you are!" he said, sounding nonchalant as he took in the expression on Anakin's face, the glint from the knife, and the narrowing of the Duros's eyes. "I see no one's been hurt so far," he added calmly.

The Duros bared white teeth and pressed the knife a little closer. "Do as I say and it stays that way."

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at him. "I was talking to him," he said, and glanced at Anakin.

Anakin returned a small smile and a steady gaze, and above him the Duros scowled.

"The boss wants to talk to you," he growled in that nasal, harmonic way of their species.

"Well," Obi-Wan said cheerfully, "that makes two of us."

The flunky's scowl deepened, and he glanced around once, like he expected someone to leap from a building or alleyway. "You're coming with me!" he said, all bravado, and pointed the knife at Obi-Wan for emphasis.

"Of course." Obi-Wan nodded once at him, then glanced at Anakin. "All right, let him go."

"Wh—"

Anakin flicked two fingers, and the knife tore from his captor's hand, embedding itself in the bar's exterior wall. In the second of dumbstruck astonishment that followed, he ducked, spun, and extricated himself from the man's grasp. He took two slow steps back in Obi-Wan's direction, and Obi-Wan strode to meet him. He set a hand on Anakin's shoulder.

"Nicely done," he said quietly.

When Anakin grinned up at him, he let his hand fall, and they both regarded the Duros with dispassionate interest. Bereft of both his knife and his captive, he stared at them for a moment in bewildered panic, then drew his blaster. He aimed at Obi-Wan first. Then Anakin.

"I said, you're coming with me!"

Obi-Wan lifted his hands in the air in surrender. "All right," he said. "Lead the way."

The Duros frowned again and motioned with his gun. They approached and waited for him to go first. He hesitated, and Obi-wan motioned for him to _please_ go ahead. The Duros took an unsure step, frowning at them and mouthing something to himself. They fell in behind. After a few paces, he turned, pointing his blaster and shaking it in some kind of threat.

Obi-Wan tried very hard not to smile.

The Duros led them from the more populated streets of the main bars and restaurants into the darker belly of the Ring of Kafrene. The milling crowds thinned to nothing, and Obi-Wan could feel the burring hum of machinery deep in his chest. Around them, pipes hissed steam at street level, off of buildings, down from bridges of pipe overhead. The air grew thick with moisture and heat, and their boots squelched on the thin layer of asteroid mud.

The Duros glanced over his shoulder at them and his holstered his blaster, shaking his head in confusion. He stopped at a door that looked like it could house anything: warehouse, office, residence. After a brief exchange through an intercom, the door clunked heavily and swung inward. A breath of fresh air gusted out, along with the pounding bass of nightclub music.

"You first," the Duros said with a sneer and gestured inside.

Obi-Wan paid very close attention to the man's movements as he passed by him and into the dark maw of the club. A Zabrack moved silently to block their path to the dance floor, his horns flashing in and out of view with the strobe lights. He crossed thickly muscled arms, and Obi-Wan diverted course. He had a choice of stairs up to what might be a VIP balcony or stairs down. He turned to look over his shoulder at the Duros, but if the man said anything, it was drowned out.

They were going to see an underworld boss.

Obi-Wan glanced at the options, shrugged, and headed down. If he was going the wrong way, someone would be sure to let him know in good time. Anakin clung close his heels, and they descended into a dully lit hallway of sickly green plastoid. There were only two choices from there: doors on the left and right. The padding of building separating them from the club muted the music to a distant thumping, and Obi-Wan could hear the sounds of their boots on the floor. He slowed as they approached the doors.

"Well?" he called back.

"One on the left," the Duros said, gesturing with his blaster.

There were no labels. No windows. No indication of what they were actually walking into. Obi-Wan pressed the button on the door panel, and the door retracted into the wall with smooth, light woosh. They stepped inside. And a dozen men halted their conversation to turn and stare. In the center of them, a head taller than the rest, was a Vratix. _The_ Vratix.

The insectoid swiveled on its powerful main legs, heedless of those in its group who had to move out of the way of its swinging abdomen. Small vestigial hind legs clicked against the floor as it settled, and it bent its long, absurdly thin arms to bring its claws together in front. Its carapace flickered to a bright green as it presumably took in the sight of them, and its mandibles twitched.

"Move," the Duros said, shoving on the back of Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan shot him a look that dared him to do it again and approached the shadowbroker slowly, moving of his own accord and in his own time. The assembled henchmen glared at him with boiling menace, and as each caught his eye, set a hand on their blaster.

The Vratix scuttled closer and bobbed its head around, first down, as though bowing, then a bit from side to side. Its compound eyes did not—could not—blink, and Obi-Wan remained motionless during the examination.

The creature chittered. "You," a mechanical voice said from a box hanging around The Vratix's neck, "you're the one telling people you work for me?"

Obi-Wan folded his hands into his sleeves and bowed slightly. "I am."

The insect's small, round head tipped to the side, and its mandibles clicked. "You don't."

"I know."

"Then what"—the voice box translated with an flat, electronic harmonic—"do you want." It leaned closer and snapped the pinchers of its jaws hard.

Beside him, Anakin flinched, and Obi-Wan fought the curl of disgust in his stomach. An insect of this size needed a thick carapace to withstand the pressure of gravity. It needed strong muscles to move that thick carapace around. He had little doubt The Vratix could bite through an arm if it wanted to. The clack was a show of menace, a threat. Nevermind the henchmen, he could do his own dirty work.

Obi-Wan gazed at the alien, compound eyes steadily. "To make a deal."

The Vratix straightened, and its mandibles flexed lazily—the only motion in its giant body for what felt like several lifetimes. He couldn't read anything about it. It had no humanoid face to reflect expressions, no eyes to flash, no tell-tale scents like some aliens he'd met. It just became a piece of scenery, like the mantises in the gardens waiting patiently for prey.

A light on the electronic box around its neck flashed on before Obi-Wan even heard anything, and then the polyphonic voice emerged. "I'm listening."

Obi-Wan exhaled and let it settle his nerves. "I need access to a high speed datanet terminal, and I understand you can get me that."

The Vratix bent the two antennae on its head toward him. "Why?"

He pressed his lips together. "Jedi business."

"What business?"

Irritation clawed at the back of Obi-Wan's neck. "I'm trying to prevent several murders."

"Of who?"

"I don't know... that's what I need the datanet for." Obi-Wan stared at the creature's multi-colored eyes. It was digging for information, as any good shadowbroker should, he supposed.

The Vratix's three-fingered claws closed, and he took its unnatural stillness to mean it was considering his words. Eventually, it said, "And in exchange?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "You tell me. What's your price?"

It was a dangerous question, and he had no idea if he'd be willing to pay whatever the underworld boss of a place like Kafrene was asking for. Obi-Wan glanced at the gathered henchmen around them, so far all silent observers. He'd interrupted a meeting of some kind.

The Vratix noticed his interest and swung its small head around, getting a good look at all of them. "Back to work," the box said, translating none of the vehemence from the insectoid's swinging arm into its tone.

The mix of aliens and humans jumped out of his reach and gathered back together in small, murmuring clusters. The Vratix waved Obi-Wan to follow as it clicked further into the room, abdomen swaying with each step. It headed for a large desk and settled itself on a bench seat cut for its unique anatomy. The Vratix laced its claws together and regarded them.

The stillness...

Obi-Wan stared at it, finally realizing why the creature made his instincts twitch. Insects don't breathe... not like mammals do. The air just... passes into them through holes in their exterior, often the abdomen carapace. There's no movement, no inhale, no sighing. And their eyes... also stationary. Nothing about them _needs_ to move.

And so The Vratix sat in complete stillness, a sudden statue.

"I could arrange this," it said at last. "But you need to do something for me."

"And that is?"

Its mandibles twitched. "Do you know what a Knytix is?"

Obi-Wan blinked at The Vratix for a moment and then turned to Anakin. His padawan looked up at him with an innocent shrug, and Obi-Wan turned back.

"You want me... to steal back... your pet?" he said, emphasizing the ridiculousness of each successive phrase.

The Vratix bobbed its head. "From a man who no longer deserves the honor," it added, pounding a reedy fist on the desk.

"I saw a few come through Mos Eisley," Anakin said quietly. "They fetched a high price at auction."

The Vratix inclined its head in Anakin's direction. "There is only one Knytix on Kafrene. I cannot afford to import another."

"And... the man you gave it to?" Obi-Wan asked. "What can you tell me about him?"

"An officer in the company. Jerrion Tarq."

"The mining company?"

The Vratix responded with silence, and Obi-Wan frowned.

"Aren't they the defacto rulers of Kafrene?"

More silence.

A heavy stone settled in Obi-Wan's gut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "Do you know where he keeps this pet?" Obi-Wan heard himself ask, sighing out the words.

The Vratix pointed at the ceiling, and Obi-Wan glanced upward with a frown.

"Málmfell," the box said.

Obi-Wan shook his head, as the word meant nothing.

"The other side," The Vratix clarified, "where the owners live," and Obi-Wan stared up at the ceiling again, imagining the sky beyond, and the city that hung above their heads just as they hung above theirs. The voice box clicked to get his attention. "I'll give you the address."

 **AYLEE**

A cup of caf appeared in Aylee's field of vision, clutched gently around the rim by Tir-Zen's fingers. She alleviated him of his burden with a long sigh and took a tentative sip as he sat back down. Aylee tipped her head back as the caf warmed her throat and stared at the waiting room ceiling. It was white.

Everything was white.

The chairs were blue, but they were _on_ the chairs, so... white.

She sighed again, trying not to pay attention to the strains of Bith innocuous jazz filtering through the air. The warbling tones were designed, she suspected, to turn your brain to mush.

One leg kept bouncing.

Aylee took another sip.

The receptionist tapped at a computer terminal.

There were no clocks. No windows. Just waiting, for the music to make her brains drool out her ears.

How long had they been there?

Tir-Zen leaned back until his horns scraped the wall.

"He might not even be in there," he rasped, glancing at the door to Ulbe's office, which had not budged since their arrival.

Aylee's knee bounced. "I know."

Tee scowled. "We don't _have_ to wait. We could just _make_ them—"

The bouncing stopped, and Aylee tore her gaze from the ceiling to look at him. "That's not who we are," she said evenly. "Yes, we _could_ just make them. We could just make _everyone_ do _everything_. But then what does that make us?"

Tir-Zen met her eyes briefly and then sank lower in his seat. The both of them contemplated their own ceiling panels in a tense silence, and then Tee scrunched even lower, almost spilling onto the floor.

"Effective," he muttered.

"Tee." It wasn't quite a reproach.

He looked over, green cloak bunched up around his neck and shoulders. "How do you know when's the right time?"

Aylee gave him a long, searching look, trying to land on the right tone, the right piece of wisdom to impart. She thought about her own steps over that line and the long talks she'd had with the silent casks of holocrons after. "When it's your gut talking," she said softly. "Not your boredom."

Tee's mouth twitched into a grin, and he shimmied back up into his seat enough to stretch out and hook one ankle over the other. Aylee watched him for a moment from the corner of her eye and then went back to staring at the ceiling.

The worst part, of course, was that he was right.

They were wasting time just waiting out here, when the access they needed was a Force manipulation away. Not even a major psychic break. Just a suggestion to bend the rules here and there. She could have gotten it from the receptionist downstairs. Could have breezed by the one up here. Could have whisked into Ulbe's office—

 _Aylee..._

She blinked at the touch of Obi-Wan's voice in her head and let her eyes fall shut. Her internal compass swung into alignment and she felt his presence of glowing ember gold.

 _Hi._

 _Any luck?_ he asked.

She rolled her eyes behind their lids and pressed her lips together sourly. _No. You?_

 _Some... but I think I need your help._

One eyebrow lifted.

Obi-Wan went on. _There's a man at the company. Jerrion Tarq. It would be helpful if he didn't come home on time._

The other eyebrow lifted.

 _You want me to—_

 _Distract him. Keep him at the office or something. Just so he doesn't come home._

If he'd been in the room, she'd have narrowed her eyes at him. Instead, she let a sliver of suspicion thread across the bond.

 _Do I want to know why?_

A hesitation. Then, _Well... no. Plausible deniability._

Aylee frowned at that and sat up straight in her chair. _Right... well... I'll see what I can do_.

She felt the warmth of gratitude flow across her skin. _Thank you, darling._

Aylee's eyes popped open, and her heart skipped. She felt her cheeks flush.

"Master?" Tir-Zen's sandpaper voice.

Darling...

She blinked, breathless, and the sound of Ben's voice caressed down her spine and curled toward her breastbone.

A slip? Intentional?

Did it matter either way?

Tir-Zen sat rod straight in his chair. "Master. . ."

She jolted and looked at him. "We're leaving," she said softly, not knowing the words until she heard them herself.

"What?" Tee frowned in confusion and lingered in his chair while she stood.

"Plan B," Aylee told him, voice stronger as she headed for the receptionist.

"Wh—"

Tee scrambled up to follow.

The receptionist had ignored them since their initial request to see Mr. Ulbe and looked up only when Aylee leaned over the desk into her space.

"Mr. Ulbe is—"

"Where can I buy new clothes?" Aylee asked.

For a second the woman's jaw hung open, and then she gathered herself for a reply. "There's a mezzanine mall three block down from the entrance to the building."

"Great. Thanks." Aylee turned to leave and then lurched to a halt. She swung back. "Jerrion Tarq. What floor?"

The receptionist stared at her. "Uh, 102... Financial."

Aylee tapped the woman's desk with one hand, like it had done a good job, and whirled for the door.

Fourth—

No, _fifth_ outfit...

Aylee smooth a hand down her midsection, skimming her fingers lightly over sky blue, nearly turquoise, fabric that looked green at different angles. The dress hugged her body and then flared into a mermaid cut. Thick squared spirals flashed gold from just below her knees to the hem. She picked up the sash, and its thousand metal strands flowed like water over her fingers. She looped the sash around her waist twice and tied it so the trailing ends fell down her left side. She lifted her gaze to the mirror straight ahead and touched the collar high on her throat, the gold embroidery across her chest that mimicked jewelry.

The dress left her arms bare, and that felt strangely vulnerable. She pressed her lips together, then touched the button to open the changing room door.

Tir-Zen looked up as the mirrored door slid away, and Aylee stepped out, glancing down at herself and then at him for a reaction. Tee blinked slowly, his face blank. Aylee turned once, holding her arms out a little so he could get a good look.

Then, "Well?" Her heart beat a little faster than it should. It couldn't be that bad. And how could it take _five_ outfits to find something she looked good in?

Tir-Zen opened his mouth as though to speak, stopped himself, and considered his words.

Aylee could feel her expression falling toward dismay.

"I think..." Tee said slowly, "that Master Obi-Wan would like it."

That—

 _What?_

She stared at him. Embarrassment rushed flaming at her cheeks. "What?" she said aloud. How could— Why would he—

Tir-Zen frowned and shifted in his seat. "Isn't—isn't that why we're here?" he rasped, pacing the words with the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't.

"It... no!" Aylee pressed her knuckles to her hips and let the rush of the Force move across her senses, carrying some of the embarrassment away. Of course... how could he know. She hadn't stopped long enough to tell him what they were doing or why. Of course he would assume. As the heat of her emotion cooled, she opened her eyes and gave her padawan a sad smile. "No... and... I don't think that's going to happen."

Tir-Zen's frown deepened, but if he had any opinion on _that_ he didn't offer it.

"We're going to... occupy someone's time. Obi-Wan needs a distraction."

Tee nodded once. "You're the distraction."

Aylee gestured at the dress, which, apparently, fit the bill.

"Ooooo," the store clerk, a young human woman, appeared behind Tee's back to check on them. Her eyes went wide. "That is... wow. That is you. That is fabulous! That color!"

Aylee smiled down at herself. "Yeah?"

"Are you kidding! You're taking it right? You have to." She flailed her hands a little. "It's the best one!"

The clerk's enthusiasm swept aside the creeping doubts, the lingering sadness of Tee's assumptions, and Aylee found herself smiling back. She could do this. Of course she could do this.

"Can I wear it out?"

"Absolutely!"

The woman rushed over and touched a device on her finger to a spot Aylee couldn't see just behind her right shoulder.

"Well," Aylee said, looking at Tee, "that's the hard part, I think."

"Big date?" the clerk asked.

Aylee offered a smile. "That's the idea."

The girl bobbed her head. "All you need are the touches. The shoes, the accessories. Hair."

Aylee touched her hair. It hung straight and flat, and she hadn't even thought about what to do with it. She looked at the girl. "Do you have those things here?"

"Absolutely! You want me to get you some? I..." She backed up and gave Aylee a glance up and down. "I have some ideas. Some heels could give you—"

"No heels."

The clerk paused and looked skyward, like she was doing some calculations. "Mmm. Okay. I think they'd be great. Like, really great. But I'll bring you some things to try. Just step on this."

She dropped a datapad on the ground, and Aylee put one bare foot on it. It beeped after a moment, and the clerk snatched it up, examining the results as she hurried away.

Aylee turned to find Tir-Zen standing and staring at her, his head tilted to one side. She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"I saw something earlier..." he said, then he too vanished into the depths of the store.

The clerk made it back first, with a dizzying array of options. Too many options. They were shoes. Who was going to look? Would it matter?

What if it _did_ matter?

What if she chose the _wrong_ shoes and the whole plan fell apart?

She stood paralyzed at the choices and barely noticed when Tee returned.

"Master."

She jolted and turned to him. He had a handful of glowing white sticks and gestured at the bench he'd been sitting on when she'd come out. She frowned.

"For your hair," he said, and gestured again.

 _Right. Yes._

Aylee sat on the bench and glanced at the clerk and her waiting wall of gold shoes. "You choose. Just something simple."

As she settled, Tir-Zen gently combed his fingers through her hair, looking for large knots. The sensation—familiar and slow—eased some of the building anxiety. He found a few tangles to pick through. The clerk set a simple pair of flats on the floor and then stood, staring in open fascination.

"Do you have a brush?" Tir-Zen asked her.

The girl blinked at him and then seemed to realize that required a response. "Oh, uh, yes. One second."

She disappeared into the racks and came back with a hair brush, probably her own. Aylee watched Tir-Zen's reflection in the mirrored door of the changing room as he smiled and set about combing her hair into a perfect canvas. A few tugs. Relatively painless. And then he stood back for a moment and contemplated, twirling one of the tines between his fingers. After a few seconds, he nodded to himself and started pulling her hair back.

The clerk just stood, enthralled. "Your son does your hair?"

Tee glanced up at her with another amused, shy smile, and Aylee laughed a little.

"He has a lot of talents."

Tee did something that pulled tight, and then he slid the first tine _almost_ into place. He held it, suspended, with the Force. Then another. Then another. He wove her hair and the pins together in an impossible fashion, and then carefully placed the final pin that would lock the pattern into place. With a thought, with a blink, the glowing tines all snapped into their final positions at once.

The clerk gasped, her jaw hanging open.

"That's... I've never seen anyone _do_ that!"

The pins formed a glowing halo around an intricately woven bun. Aylee couldn't see the back of it, but the effect was perfectly dramatic. She slipped on the shoes and stood to look at herself in the mirror. Dramatic dress. Dramatic hair.

"Needs eyeliner," she said, tilting her head critically.

The clerk snapped her fingers. "I've got just the thing!"

She hurried away and came back with a small device in one hand. It was round, flat on one side and a globe of gel-like substance on the other. Aylee lifted an eyebrow at it.

The clerk grinned. "Just... trust me." She waved Aylee closer. "Now... close your eyes."

Aylee did as instructed, and a second later felt the cool squish of the gel against her eyelid. The girl pressed something on the flat side, and Aylee felt a tingle spread across her skin in contact with the gel. A second later, the gel was gone.

"Okay, open," the clerk told her.

She did and looked in the mirror. A perfect black line darkened the waterline around her eye.

"What—"

"Nautolan biotech." The girl shrugged. "It works. I _think_ it's ink. I don't ask."

Aylee nodded, and the clerk motioned for the other eye.

Once done, they all took a moment for silent appraisal.

Then, "Tee?" over her shoulder.

"My opinion hasn't changed."

Aylee nodded at her reflection once, then looked at the clerk. "Let's get this paid."

Tir-Zen left the store with all of Aylee's Jedi things in a plastoid sack, her lightsaber secured to his own belt. Aylee paused as they entered the shopping arcade and looked at him.

"What?" he asked, glancing down at himself.

"You're going to need a uniform."

"I—what?" Tee frowned. "For what?"

"Because you..." Aylee poked him in the arm. "Are part of the plan."

"I am?"

"Yes, of—" She stopped, staring at him in surprise, and Tee's eyebrows shot up as he waited. Oh. _Oh..._

Shit.

She sighed and closed her eyes for a second. "I didn't tell you the plan."

Tir-Zen cleared his throat delicately. "No, Master."

"Right." Aylee looped her hand around his elbow and started pulling him toward a men's clothing store. "So we have to find Jerrion Tarq, yes?"

"Yes..." Tir-Zen switched the bag to his other hand.

"But...?"

Aylee weaved them between streams of pedestrians, giving Tee time to think.

"But... we don't know what he looks like."

"Exactly! So... we're going to get him to come to us."

They slipped from the street into the less crowded interior of the shop, and Aylee smiled up at him.

"And for that I need a uniform," Tir-Zen said, following, but also not.

"Yes."

"And you?"

" _I_ am a pretty woman having a very bad day."

Tee narrowed his eyes. "Just... how did you come up with this plan?"

Aylee let go of his arm and drifted toward some racks of dull-looking clothes in dark colors. "I..." She took a deep breath, feeling embarrassment skitter across her neck. "I... got it from a holodrama."

Tir-Zen appeared on the other side of the rack of clothes, skepticism carved deep on his face. "And that makes you think it's going to work?"

She plucked a pair of pants off the rack and held it out to him. "No... But I can give him a nudge if I have to."

Tir-Zen stared at the clothes but didn't take them. "I thought you just said we don't do that."

Aylee sighed. "I _said_ you'd know when the time was right. And that it wouldn't be out of boredom."

She chucked the pants at his head, and he caught them on instinct. "Now, c'mon. We don't have a lot of time. We have to get back before the office closes."

Aylee watched from the plaza outside the front doors of Toktaan, half-hidden by one of the fire pit pillars. There hadn't been anywhere decent to stash their clothes, so they tucked them up close to the building in a corner of the square, out of the immediate view of anyone leaving. The plan was relatively simple. Tir-Zen was a delivery man with an order of flowers for one Jerrion Tarq, who, he would insist, was to come down and get his delivery in person.

He'd already made this pronouncement to the receptionist and left his com link open so Aylee could hear.

"Mr. Tarq doesn't like to be bothered."

"Sir," Tee said patiently. "I'm just here to deliver these." He gestured with the large arrangement of jade roses.

"Then you can leave them with me."

Tee's voice hardened. "If I want to get fired." He affected a sigh and took a second to compose himself. "Look, sir, please, the instructions were very clear. Deliver these personally. Make sure Mr. Tarq gets them. Please, can you just tell him he has a delivery? If you don't, I'll have to stand here all night until he comes down."

There was a long pause while the receptionist seemed to think over the prospect of having Tee linger at his desk for several hours, and then Aylee heard the click of an intercom.

"Jerrion, Enrik at the front desk. We have a delivery down here for you."

"Delivery..." The confused voice of Jerrion Tarq sounded distant coming over two coms. "What—whatever. Fine. I'll be right down."

Aylee couldn't see the receptionist as anything more than a smudge above the edge of the desk, but he must have done something, because Tir-Zen and his vase of green roses shuffled aside to the end of the desk closest to the elevators.

Almost time...

Aylee's heart beat in quick anticipation, and her thoughts slid over and over on the line she'd practiced. Simple. Just an opening line. The Force would guide her from there. She had the outline, the general notion. But if she could weave an alliance from warring factions, she could do this.

The lives of several people depended on her doing this.

There was no signal. No way to know when Jerrion would arrive or how long Tee could keep him talking. The only way to know... was to _know_.

With a slow exhale, she let her senses become attuned to the Force flowing around her... forming a river... pressing at the backs of her knees. It had eddies. Its ripples touched her fingertips. She felt the pressure of the current against her legs and let the sensation fill her awareness.

When it was ready—

When she was ready—

The river urged her foot forward, and she surrendered to its wisdom. Aylee strode out from her hiding spot behind the pillar and switched off the com tucked behind her sash. Her whole world narrowed to the clear glass doors and the white reception desk. The tight binding of the dress around her thighs kept her movements short and quick, and her knuckles tightened around a small matching clutch as though she might bludgeon someone with it if this all went horribly wrong.

The door swished open, and it felt like a dramatic entrance. Like a stunning reveal. _Here I am, Toktaan. Witness me._

She consciously slowed her steps and evened out her breathing. Slightly excited, that was all. Here to meet a date. Have a lovely evening. Things people do all the time.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man emerge from the elevator bank. She saw dark hair and a black and silver suit, then averted her gaze to the receptionist.

It must be Jerrion.

She tried not to look, instead listening as she came into range.

 _Plaster on a smile..._

"...what do you mean you don't know?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Tee said in his dusty, strained way, "they didn't tell me—"

"What? Speak up, I can't hear you."

Tir-Zen cleared his throat as Aylee passed behind him. _Eyes on the receptionist._

"I only had a name and location," Tir-Zen said, louder, with a ripping rasp that Aylee _knew_ hurt.

She fought a flinch and the rising bubble of outrage and did not look. He could do it. She tuned out the exasperation and focused on the receptionist, who was openly gawping at the extravagent, mysterious delivery.

"Hi," Aylee said, sliding saccharin into her tone. She wondered, briefly, if the man would remember her from before, or recognize her.

He gave her barely a glance, his attention all on what would be excellent office gossip. Secret admirer?

Aylee cleared her throat, and this time the receptionist looked long enough to make eye contact.

"Yes?"

"Hi. I'm looking for Theon vas Allon."

The receptionist arched an eyebrow and tapped on his keyboard.

"...a good evening, sir." Tir-Zen made a hasty retreat, his footsteps registering in Aylee's awareness as she watched the receptionist frowning at his screen.

"I'm... sorry, miss, but there's no one here by that name." He looked up from his screen, frowning.

Aylee's pulse quickened, and she frowned. "What? No, no that can't be right." She smiled, a little confused. "Can you check again?"

The man let out a huff and asked her to spell it.

There was, of course, no such person in the system.

Aylee stared at the receptionist. She knew sorrow. Disappointment. And their ghosts came easily. "But... but he said..." She felt her face flush from embarrassment, anger. "Why would he lie? Why would he send me here on a _lie_?" She let her voice get louder.

The receptionist blinked, finding himself suddenly in unfamiliar waters.

"He _has_ to be here! I-I bought this dress!" She tapped her chest where the embroidery glittered. "I got reservations!"

"Ma'am, please don't..."

Heaving with the first waves of sorrow, she let tears gather in her eyes.

The receptionist looked terrified, and he glanced over to where she suspected Jerrion stood watching.

"Who's going to take me to dinner now?" she asked, bereft. He didn't answer. Just stared at her with growing sympathy. "Why would someone..."

"I don't know..." It was the first sign of humanity the mining company's front desk drone had shown.

Aylee shook her head, as though sorrow could be cleared like cobwebs. "I just... It's been so long, you know? I just wanted one decent night out." She offered a broken, humorless smile. "Is that too much to ask?"

The man cast Jerrion another lost look, and this time Aylee followed his gaze.

Jerrion Tarq was younger and more handsome than his jab at Tir-Zen had led her to suspect. She closed her eyes and turned wearily, showing him her face, then leaned her back against the desk. It hit unexpectedly, in an instant shorter than the span of a breath. She could see at once endless days unfurling in both directions. Alone. Alone...

Fear and loneliness cracked through her chest and simmered at the edge of her skin. Some pretense collapsed, and when she lifted her gaze to Jerrion Tarq, she found him watching, intent, concerned, and no longer a theory. A sad smile touched her lips, and she shifted her gaze to the roses.

"Those are lovely," she said, so brittle. Tears clung to her lashes.

His eyebrows lifted, and he looked at the flowers, almost startled.

She could see it—the moment the idea bloomed within him, all on its own. He pulled one of the jade roses free and met her eyes as he held it out.

"You look like you could use these more than me," he said, testing out a kind smile, a debilitating one.

Aylee took the rose from him, conscious to make a glancing touch on his hand as she did so. She held the petals to her nose and inhaled deeply. The fragrance filled her senses, gave her a point of focus, and a wistful smile spread across her lips. She opened her eyes and contemplated the rose for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"I guess if I got flowers, it's a half a date, right?" she said, and looked at him.

He smiled sympathetically, trying to match her mood, and it didn't seem to matter anymore that he was a mark, that this was a scam. Jerrion was a man with a square jaw and brilliant blue eyes who had witnessed her sorrow and offered her a flower.

They weren't _his_ blue, but she could drown in them all the same.

Aylee licked her lower lip, her breath gone shallow, and glanced down at the rose once for courage. Then, "You... um. I mean it's okay if you're not. But..." She met his eyes. "You wouldn't... happen to be free tonight, would you?" she asked. The raw, hopeful expression on her face felt natural as breathing as she watched for his reaction. "It'd be a shame to waste the reservation, and... I don't think I could handle going alone."

Jerrion blinked in surprise, then frowned a little and checked the vase of flowers and the receptionist, who had the silent enraptured look of someone watching a holonovel.

"I—" He started to shake his head.

He was going to say no. She could feel it as a cold sink in her gut, taste it in the doubt written across his forehead.

 _It's okay_...

Aylee gathered a bit of Force and sent the thought tumbling out. It brushed across the surface of his mind, not even so heavy as a suggestion. A mere shift in winds. Maybe he wasn't as tired as he thought. Maybe work didn't need his late night hours _this_ day, too.

The frown turned, and he looked almost embarrassed to admit, "I didn't have any plans."

Aylee stopping rolling the stem of the rose between two fingers. "So... that's a yes?"

He huffed a genuine smile. "Yes. One condition."

Aylee lifted her brows, her quick pulse sharp in her fingertips.

"Tell me your name?" he said, with a puckish glint in his eyes.

She laughed—a real laugh, releasing the tension of calculating this encounter—and hid behind the rose. "My manners..." she said. "Ashlin Belam." She held out one hand. "And you?"

"Jerrion."

He had warm palms and a solid grip.

"Pleasure to meet you," Aylee told him. Her heart pounded as his touch withdrew.

He looked at the vase and flowers with new, confounded dismay. "I don't— Can you just—" He scowled at them. "One minute? Let me grab my things from the office?"

Aylee nodded, grinning as she played with the rose while Jerrion carried the rest to the elevator.

Left alone, Aylee felt the attention of the receptionist and turned to him. His gaze dropped to the console at his station, and she got the impression that his attempt to look busy was nothing but a step by step recounting of what he'd just seen. She left him to it and instead leaned against his desk, letting the scent of the rose steady her thoughts while she waited.

It was just a date.

Part of a scam.

A nice evening, if she could manage it.

She resisted the urge to turn her inner eye toward the bond. Though she was doing this for _him_. Because he asked.

"Ready?"

Jerrion appeared at her side, and she started, blinking at him in surprise.

"Sorry." He ducked his head, looking roguish and not exactly sorry.

He'd gotten a long black overcoat, simple but stylish, and he stood a little closer than he had before. He glanced down at his chrono. "It's a bit early for dinner."

Aylee smiled. She'd rehearsed this. "We were supposed to walk the promenade first. A little"—she shrugged lightly—"getting to know you stroll."

Jerrion nodded, like that sounded sensible, and if he thought running into a pretty woman in the lobby was a strange twist for his night to take, he didn't show it. Relaxed. Pleased. Oozing a sort of well-earned confidence. "So..." He offered her his elbow. "To the promenade then?"

 **Obi-Wan**

Had he ever been on quite this strange a planet?

Obi-Wan dropped the imagecaster with the map of Kafrene into a pouch on his belt and peered up at the spire in front of them. Foot traffic flowed around them in both directions, and Anakin clung close to his side. If one wanted to travel to the other half of the city, this was apparently how it was done. With a glance at his padawan, Obi-Wan waded into the moving traffic and got in the queue for a shuttle. The spire looked singular and solid, but was instead a bundle of tunnels, all shooting shuttles back and forth between asteroids. As they got closer, Obi-Wan craned for a better look the vehicles themselves, but there was nothing to see save a peek through a sliding door at a seat.

"This is taking forever," Anakin said with a groan. He lolled his head around, until he caught Obi-Wan's sharp look.

But, the boy had a point. Obi-Wan scanned the line ahead of them and sighed. "I'll admit it's taking longer than I'd like."

Anakin shook his head, shuffling forward a little step as the line urged on. "This was a bad idea."

He huffed. "Which part? The larceny or—"

"We could have just gone back to Coruscant!"

If Obi-Wan were honest, he'd admit that he'd thought the same thing. "It's 24 hours from Besk to Coruscant. It only took us one to get here."

Anakin scowled at him. "And we've spent _how_ many just to get to stand in a line?"

Obi-Wan check his chronometer. " _Fifteen_ hours." He gave Anakin a cheerful look. "Still have time to have made the right decision."

"And if we made the wrong one?"

The cheerfulness sobered, overcast with the gravity of their mission. Lives were on the line. "Then... we deal with the consequences."

The line moved again, and Anakin dropped his gaze to the ground, shaking his head. "We should have just used the connection from the ship."

"Too slow," Obi-Wan said. "We have a whole galaxy to search. That's a lot of planets and a _lot_ of people."

The unhappy grunt he got in reply told him the matter was closed, for now at least. As they neared the entrance to the transport terminal, the quality of the air shifted. They could feel waves of cooling lightness rolling out of the building's interior. On either side of the entrance, towers of matte silver metal hummed, and blue light spilled from their tops. A gentle breeze of unpolluted air wafted out of each scrubber.

He'd gotten used to the ammonia smell, and the sudden lack of it made his lungs feel twice their size.

Obi-Wan paid for two tickets, and once money had exchanged hands, he and Anakin were swiftly escorted to a shuttle pod of their own. This one seated six, though it was just the two of them. Each plush seat had a padded harness unlocked and hinged upward from the seat back. With a quirk of an eyebrow, Obi-Wan gathered his cloak close around himself and sat. The shuttle attendant waited for Anakin to get settled, and then threw a lever that brought all the harnesses down at once. The man came over to give each harness a final shove to make sure it was a tight fit, then stood back in the doorway.

Anakin peered up and around them. "Master, if they're shooting us straight upward..."

"How do we not land on our heads?"

He could just about see Anakin's hair bobbing up and down over the edge of the harness.

"I haven't a clue."

The attendant just snorted, not bothering with explanations, and pressed the button to send them on their way.

Obi-Wan's hands flew immediately to thoughtfully placed handles on the harness, and he squeezed hard. The ascent was gradual enough at first, but after a few seconds their gaining speed pressed him into the seat, and breathing took a bit more effort.

Anakin, of course, started to laugh.

The acceleration leveled off, and the shuttle whisked noiselessly through its tube. Stars only knew how fast they were going. It was a twenty minute ride to Málmfell. Which, he supposed, meant that in about five minutes things were going to get interesting. As the shuttle sped higher and higher from the asteroid, gravity began to give way. Obi-Wan could feel his weight lessening. His limbs moved with surprising ease.

When it happened, the first thing to know was his stomach.

Weightlessness.

Anakin gasped. Obi-Wan felt queasy.

And then the shuttle clanked, like clamps releasing.

"Oh, no way..." Anakin crooned.

Obi-Wan fixed his gaze on a scratch on the shuttle wall for reference. But the seats didn't move. He could feel something happening, something to his sense of balance and momentum. The shuttle must have multiple outer hulls, because as theirs rotated, placing Málmfell at their feet, the other kept moving through the tunnel on the same trajectory.

They had, in effect, been flipped upside down while weightless. And when gravity took hold again, it would _feel_ as though they'd gone up and very long way and come right back down.

His stomach gurgled, and Obi-Wan pressed his eyes and lips shut. They had to be close now...

As gently as gravity had left, it returned. Since they were now heading down, the shuttle had to slow, or else they'd remain weightless the whole trip to the surface.

It was, all things considered, a decent way to travel. Obi-Wan had certainly had worse. Anakin wandered out of the shuttle in Málmfell with his jaw hung slack and eyes dancing. They both exited the terminal and stared upward at the Kafrene they had come from, twinkling like stars. Obi-Wan kept them moving so they didn't get plowed over by traffic, and they were well on their way into the warren of streets before he realized that _this_ side of the city didn't smell like ammonia. Instead, it was cloying and smoky—differently unpleasant—but at least it didn't make his eyes water.

Obi-Wan pulled the imagecaster with The Vratix's map from his belt and tried to orient himself to the blinking dot. A swarm of figures in blue cloaks buffeted passed them, carving a path through the throng, and Obi-Wan urged Anakin to fall into line behind them. Overhead, speeders and cargo vessels navigated the cramped streets, filling the canyons below with heat from their engines and a bone-thrilling echoing buzz.

They clung to their nameless benefactors and moved swiftly through Málmfell's streets. The ground beneath their feet started to angle in a slow, then steep incline, and buildings on either side changed architecture to that of something carved into a mountain face or perched above it. It was impossible to tell what district they'd entered without a more detailed map. Obi-Wan kept checking that they were moving in the right direction.

Abruptly, the blue-cloaked figures turned off the main causeway—in the wrong direction—and the Jedi watched a good deal of the foot traffic flow in that same direction, breaking around them like rocks in a river. A few meters further up the hill, and Obi-Wan realized why. The causeway ended in a flat stone wall. He checked the map again, and the dot for Jerrion's house was most definitely ahead. Obi-Wan paced back the way they'd come and peered up at the city around them. Unlike Coruscant's districts, Kafrene hadn't been built layer upon layer, new bearing down on the old and obscuring it from view. Over the edge of the wall, he could see lights shining from windows well above the height on the buildings on either side. He frowned and glanced around, then reached for a human passing by.

"Pardon me," he said, stepping a little in the man's way. "How do I get up there?" He pointed at the tower peeking above the dead end wall.

The man glowered at him. "Fuck off."

Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Anakin's hand twitch. And then his padawan stepped forward, eyes dark and chin set.

"Tell us . . . how we get there," Anakin said slowly, staring into the stranger's eyes.

The man's expression twisted, first in shock, like he couldn't believe the impudence. But then . . . with a cloud of pain that gathered on his forehead and curled at his lip.

"Back . . . one block." Words pressed from the man's mouth, resisting the air that carried them. He sucked a breath. "Turn left . . . use the elevators . . ."

Anakin broke the eye contact and bowed his head slightly.

The stranger jerked, suddenly free, and backed up a step, his eyes growing wider. He looked like he was about to say something, then thought better of it and stumbled over himself to hurry away into the crowd.

Obi-Wan frowned watching him go, the heat of anger tightening his throat. He looked at Anakin, whose expression was unnervingly calm. "That," Obi-Wan said, his voice hard, "was excessive use of Force. You hurt that man."

Anakin turned to look at him with wide-eyed innocence. "He wasn't going to help."

"Then I'd have asked another!"

Anakin scowled at him. "We don't have time to ask a thousand people!"

Irritation clenched Obi-Wan's shoulders. "We had time for two!" he shot back. He jabbed a finger in Anakin's direction. " _Don't_ do that again."

Anakin sighed with a dramatic flourish that he _knew_ set his master's nerves on edge—pushed every right button to get a rise out of him. He turned to face the direction the man had indicated. "So, we're not going to follow the directions we got?"

Obi-Wan glared at the back of the boy's head, taking time to wrestle his annoyance under control. Anakin should know better. He _did_ know better than to just go around forcing his will on people. But . . . he had gotten them what they needed. And there was no point in pretending now that he hadn't. Still, the disappointment pulled at Obi-Wan's shoulders, at his heart. _Still so much to learn_ , he thought, and he sighed as he let his anger go.

He stalked into the crowd, adult enough not to knock Anakin's elbow as he did so, and led them to the access point for the upper district. The elevators, they discovered, had armed guards, and they required a fee to ride. An exorbitant fee. Obi-Wan nearly choked and found no way to neatly cover his shock. The clerk grinned at his shock. The higher the district, the higher the fee. Complimentary wristbands to prove payment.

No one kept those kinds of credits on hand, so Obi-Wan paid with a chit, appalled and affronted at such robbery, and then he and Anakin shuffled inside. He wondered if he'd have to explain this expense. Or how to explain that they needed to rob a house, you see, and it cost a lot to get there.

The elevator's interior was polished spotless, and the overhead light so bright it hurt the eyes. The operator gave them a cursory glance, said nothing, and hit the button to send them up.

Obi-Wan couldn't imagine why they needed an operator for a simple elevator. He crossed his hands into his sleeves, hiding his complimentary wristband, and settled into staring at his own reflection as the doors closed and the machine drifted silently upwards. After several minutes of silence, Obi-Wan watched Anakin's reflection shift its weight from side to side. He was staring at the ground and started to chew one lip.

The seconds ticked by.

How far were they going?

Anakin took a deep breath in.

Exhaled.

Obi-Wan practiced patience, counting his breaths as Anakin's fidgets grew louder. He _wasn't_ going to speak first. And, indeed, as the pressure of silence in the car grew, Anakin cracked first.

"I'm sorry, master," he muttered.

Obi-Wan turned to look down at him and waited a beat to see if he was going to say more. That empty pause worked as well as the first.

"I thought . . . we have people to save. We shouldn't waste time." He looked up from the floor, and his previous defiance had melted into sincerity. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

Obi-Wan let out another heavy sigh. "I know . . ." he said quietly. "But you did. And there was another way."

"Yes, master," Anakin replied in sullen tones.

"Think next time, hmm?"

Anakin nodded, not looking at him, and they both lapsed into another silence, though this one lighter than the last.

Their ride ended not long after, and the doors opened with an audible depressurizing hiss. The street beyond the door was brightly lit, and when they stepped out into the upper district, Obi-Wan's whole body felt suddenly bright and energized. He blinked in surprise and then realized, as he took another breath, that the air up here was cleaner—possibly even _clean_. Obi-Wan got the map out and oriented them along a boulevard lined with gnarled, fluorescent plants that cast auras of blue and green. They weren't quite bright enough to serve as street lamps, but in the everdark of Kafrene, it was as close as anything might come to picturesque landscaping and a shady, tree-lined street.

As they passed underneath the winding tendrils curled together like clutched fingers, something in Obi-Wan's gut tightened. The ground beneath his feet glowed blue, and he shut his eyes for a moment to shiver before pushing the sensation and memory away.

"Master?"

They had stopped moving.

Obi-Wan blinked his eyes open again and glanced at Anakin. "Nothing. It's fine," he said quickly and started walking again. Anakin frowned and tracked him with his eyes for a second before falling into step.

It was _fine_.

Darkness and blue.

It was fine . . .

The district appeared to be entirely residential. Unlike the cobbled shacks and metal-plastoid amalgamations of the lower district, the buildings here had . . . character. Planning. Actual architecture. Below they were composed of found parts and sharp edges. But the style of upper Málmfell was rounded and smooth. Buildings were built like towers or domes, and nearly all of them were white. Or at least looked white to the naked human eye—perhaps to stand out better against the black of space.

The homes sprung up on the craggy sides of the asteroid like bubbles, and some required lifts to reach the doors. Jerrion's home had a long, angled staircase from street level up to where his small, domed tower sat pressed against the bare rock face. At the foot of the stairs, Obi-Wan exchanged a look with Anakin, and then they both glanced around to take stock of the street, the neighbors, and anything that might be zipping through the sky.

If there was sky traffic in the upper district, they hadn't seen any.

Their cloaks cut dark silhouettes against the white staircase as they headed up, and Obi-Wan scowled, fighting the urge to duck against the wall and creep.

"Are we supposed to be sneaking?" Anakin asked, pitching his voice low. "It feels like we should be sneaking."

"I know. But . . . where? We're just . . . friends coming by for a visit. If we don't act suspicious, no one will think we're suspicious."

After a pause, Anakin replied, "That will actually work?"

Obi-Wan cut him a look. _No . . . maybe_. "Do you have a datapad on you?"

"Yes . . . why?"

"Take it out."

Anakin complied as they turned at a landing in the stairs and headed up the last flight.

"Okay. And?"

"And look at it every once in awhile, like you're checking something."

Anakin frowned down at the datapad in his hand. "Why?"

" _Because_. People carrying datapads look official."

The boy's eyebrows rose, but he didn't argue.

They reached the door to Jerrion's house and peered up at the structure—a plastoid shell dotted with windows and a few balconies bearing a more exotic arrangement of glowing flora than they'd seen on the street. Obi-Wan stepped up close to the door and considered his options.

The Vratix hadn't mentioned if Jerrion was married. Someone . . . might be home. That could prove a problem. But if they answered the door, that was also a different problem solved.

He turned to scan down toward the street and the idle foot traffic.

"Anakin. Keep an eye out, will you?" he gestured with his chin back down the stairs.

Anakin lifted his datapad in a small salute and trotted far enough down the path that he could keep an eye on Obi-Wan, the building, and the street below.

Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the house and the ghostly surface before him. He let his thoughts grow still, settling with the inhale and exhale of each measured moment. Something flickered at him from a distance, a tickle across the bond. Something that lifted the corners of his mouth in a smile and whispered the sensation of a laugh.

He didn't chase it.

Instead, he opened that sense within himself attuned to the Force and let his awareness expand. There was no grass here to send thrills up his legs and remind him of the constant flow of the Force. But there _was_ life. Anakin behind him. The strange plants and fungi pulsing with Living Force above, which moved across his skin like fine mist, now that he knew how to look for it. His awareness moved beyond the dead walls in front of him, and he searched for other signs of life.

A few more small, constant flows of Force suggested to him plantlife.

And then something larger. The Kyntix, maybe.

He tipped his head back to focus on the upper floors, but nothing seemed obvious.

Only one real way to find out.

Obi-Wan pressed the door panel buzzer and waited.

He glanced around, mostly to check on Anakin, and found the boy doing his own perimeter scans, complete with pointless glancing at the datapad.

When a few moments passed with no one coming to answer, Obi-Wan shifted over to conceal the door panel with his body and bent in close to give it a good look. He touched the raised beveled edge, feeling his way around the seam where it met the outer wall. It would need servicing somehow. Upgrades. Which meant—

He felt a small gap in the plastoid on the bottom of the panel and crouched to get a good look at it. Perfectly round and intentional. Perfectly designed to be pried off with the right tool. He put his hand over the lower part of the panel, centered on the seam, and exerted a small gathering of Force that he pictured as an expanding balloon right where the gap was.

The bevel came loose with a silent pop, and Obi-Wan lifted it gingerly from around the electronics. His eyes darted to the door as he set the panel casing down and then skimmed his fingers over the exposed panels searching for a good place to pry them loose. He hunched without really meaning to, shading his blatant treachery with the bulk of his body. He hadn't made a study of Republic door panel wiring schemes, but he _had_ found the need, once or twice, to get Qui-Gon some place only Qui-Gon would deem it his right to go.

Obi-Wan pulled a small, hard case from one of his belt pouches and opened it to reveal a mirror. He wedged it into the control box to get a view of the wires behind the keypad and squinted, angling himself all around to get a good look.

"Master . . ." Anakin said, suddenly behind him and whispering loudly.

Obi-Wan flinched and swallowed a curse. "Not now." He shot a scowling look over his shoulder.

"But—"

"Not _now_ , I said."

Anakin stared at him, set his lips into a thin line, and strode away with a petulance that didn't quite have him stomping his feet.

Irritation prickled in the familiar way on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, and he turned back to the cluster of wires. Was it that difficult to keep watch for five minutes? To just stay in one place . . . no trouble . . . no complaints. He'd done it. And in more miserable conditions that Anakin had yet faced.

If he could just cross the right two wires . . . he could short the locking mechanism into thinking it had gotten an passing signal from the hand-print scanner. He pictured the wires as he'd seen them in the mirror and reached with the Force into the small space, tracing the resistance of their physical presence against his senses.

One took a sharp turn out of the control box and through the wall toward the door. He marked it and came back. Then followed anoth—

 _Shunk!_

Obi-Wan jerked and stumbled back in surprise. His heart pounded in his tongue and hand went for the hilt of his saber as he squared to face the door—the _open_ door—and gasped for breath.

Anakin stood framed in the doorway, a smug grin plastered on his face.

Obi-Wan's body sagged the moment he recognized him, and then he scowled at his apprentice and the dismantled door panel.

"How—"

Anakin bent an arm and pointed up. "There's a balcony. A DRD came out to water the plants. I figured . . . if it could get out, I could get in."

Obi-Wan's gaze lifted in the direction of the balcony, well out of view from the entrance to the house. A mix of pride and more irritation washed over him in a hot wave. His apprentice waited with crossed arms and a self-satisfied gleaming in his eyes. As much as Anakin needed to learn humility, there was nothing Obi-Wan could fault him on with this. He'd _tried_ to report his discovery, after all.

"Good work," he told him, then gestured at the open panel. "Why don't you put that back together while I look for the Knytix."

Somehow, that was the right thing to say. Anakin perked and sailed out of the doorway, eager to get his hands on some tech. Obi-Wan gave a quick glance around to see if they'd been spotted or if someone was coming up the steps before slipping inside.

"It's not upstairs!" Anakin's voice sounded muted through the wall, and Obi-Wan nodded in reply, though the boy couldn't see.

With a quick flick, Obi-Wan wrapped one long sleeve around his hand—best not to leave any fingerprints—and touched a panel to turn on the lights. If the home itself weren't an ode to opulence, its interior certainly was. Not in an ostentatious, garish way. But it was clear that every piece of furniture had the refinement only money could buy. Few art pieces, but dramatic and signed originals all. Everything looked . . . soft. Textured. The weave of the cloak material wrapping Obi-Wan's fingers seemed suddenly to him rough and ugly.

He scanned the main floor for anything that looked cage-shaped, whisking from room to room with a renewed sense of urgency. If there was nothing up and nothing here . . .

He glanced at the only door he'd found aside from the washroom.

 _Be a set of stairs_. . . he thought at it as he crossed the room.

As soon as his fingers would reach, he touched the panel, and the door slid silently down. For a second, while he held his breath, nothing. A black rectangle infinitely deep. And then one by one . . . lights. Illuminating a set of stairs.

A mad little smile crossed his face.

It might not even be down there. But . . . well it certainly wasn't up here.

"Master!"

He spun, gathering Force around his free hand.

Anakin stood in the doorway, seemingly not about to be murdered.

"What!" Obi-Wan shouted at him in a muted, harsh rasp. He got his pulse to dip back down again.

"I fixed the panel. Should I come help?"

"No, you should close the door and make sure we don't get caught." He pressed his eyes shut for a second, gathering composure, and then heard the front door close. Obi-Wan took a breath and headed down.

He couldn't have said what he expected to find. A complete Kyntix terrarium with food and seemingly toys and small structures and tubes for it climb on was decidedly not it. He thought Jerrion might keep the thing in a cage. This was downright _pampered_.

Guilt tightened Obi-Wan's neck and jaw.

It was one thing to steal a trophy object. Another to steal a pet that was loved.

 _Fuck . . ._

He stepped quietly into the den and reached with the Force, opening his senses to the motion produced by life.

If he didn't do this, it would be days before they found out who the people in the image were. Days before they could track down any still alive. Sentient being who didn't even know it were depending on them. As time . . . time flitted by.

There was no luxury for indecision.

He found the small flicker of the Kyntix's Living Force and followed the beacon to a small wooden hut. He could just see the edge of one leg peeking through an opening.

"Hey, little one," Obi-Wan said, pitching his voice high and soft. Did insects respond to that sort of thing?

It ignored him, seemingly, so he took quick inventory of the basement, stepping over shredded clothes and rubber toys that looked like various species he recognized—only more chewed. The large tub in one corner _had_ to be food, didn't it? He lifted the lid slowly and peered in at the tiny, shiny carapaces of smaller insects piled high like grain.

Thankfully, they lay inert, instead of seething around each other in a roiling stew. He shuddered and let the lid back down. Obi-Wan finished the circuit back around to the little hut structure with a deepening frown. The room seemed to have everything . . . except a way to carry the creature. It would be a tad obvious just to take it out on a leash—a one of a kind animal like that.

Obi-Wan turned to head back up the steps—

And someone laughed.

He froze in shock and then glanced around himself. Still alone. Burgling someone's basement.

But he _had_ heard . . .

Sensation fluttered in his chest and rolled up his throat, and he blinked as he smiled without meaning to.

No . . . he had _felt_ a laugh, and now the siren's call of joy tugged at him to look, turn his attention from the task at hand. He scowled, and the well-practiced walls slid into place, not strangling emotion so much as severing it.

He headed up the steps and called to Anakin. Together they conducted a magician's ransacking of the house. Opening, closing, moving, replacing, folding—nothing to see here. Anakin came thundering down the stairs from the top floor holding a plastoid box aloft with both hands. Jerrion had been keeping a different set of clothes in it. And it had a top!

Obi-Wan chose not to question what state his padawan had left the man's closet in and rushed back down to the Knytix's den. He didn't bother sending Anakin back to watch the door either. He set the box down on its side and faced it toward the little hut, then scooped himself a handful of the dead bugs.

"Here creepy crawly . . ." he sang softly, and tossed some of the bugs near the opening.

The Knytix moved.

With a shift and clack like plastoid sheets shuffling together, it stuck its head from the structure and grabbed the beetles between to pincer arms. Obi-Wan tossed a few more bugs on the ground, intent on giving it a trail to follow.

The Knytix darted like lightning. No warning, no build up. It leaped and fluttered noisy wings, buzzing like a whole hive of bees. And Obi-Wan responded like mammals do to leaping insects. He jerked in surprise and jumped back with a small, un-Jedi-like cry.

Anakin chuckled.

"You want to do it?" Obi-Wan glared at him, briefly, trying to keep the shin-high Knytix well within sight.

"You're doing fine, Master," Anakin replied. And for the life of him, Obi-Wan couldn't tell if he was being mocked.

He dropped a trail of dead beetles all at once and tossed the remaining handful into the box.

The Knytix's legs and wings scratched against the sides as sprang in, and Obi-Wan slammed the lid on with a shaky exhale. He wasn't _afraid_ of insects. But they way they moved . . . the unnatural unpredictability. He didn't _like_ them, especially the non-sentient ones.

The box lid jumped under his hands as the little mantid realized its sudden captivity, and Obi-Wan clamped down with both hands. He shot Anakin a look.

"Let's go."

The Vratix was true to its word, and Obi-Wan found himself swiftly installed in a small room behind The Vratix's main "office," surrounded by an array of screens, consoles, and holo-emitters. The guards stayed outside, privacy apparently being included in their deal. Obi-Wan sat, and Anakin silently offered up the datapad holding the image. The connection to the Republic's datanet was everything they could have asked for.

They spent several minutes in silence while the machine worked, before a commotion gathered outside, and the door whisked open. Obi-Wan swiveled, and Aylee streamed through the doorway amid shouting protests. He stared at her. Blinked. His mind went blank and body reacted with an internal gripping at the sight, a pulse of pleasured surprise, of want.

She slowed and met his eyes at that exact moment, as though she'd felt it. But he was too stunned for fear or shame.

"Beautiful," fell unthinking from his lips, and she smiled with a brief shyness.

Tir-Zen hurried in close at her heels, carrying shopping bags, of all things, making gestures of apology to The Vratix's angry gang. Aylee moved to Obi-Wan's side and leaned her hands against the console, scanning the screens. He looked up at her, and she glowed, quite literally. A halo of light shone from the pins through her hair. And the dress, for covering as much as it did, hid very little. His heart skipped at the closeness of the bare skin of her arms.

He swallowed carefully, still feeling dumb. "Why are you wearing that?"

Aylee turned to look at him and lifted an eyebrow. "I was on a date with Jerrion." Matter of fact.

A—

The stirrings of something hot and ugly formed in Obi-Wan's gut, and he turned back to the screens to hide whatever expression jealousy made on one's face. It'd been a long time since he'd felt the burn of that. Since he watched the other children get chosen as padawans while the masters passed him over.

He could feel Aylee's attention scalding the top of his head. No . . . That was projection. She watched, and if anything it felt distant. Considering. A light touch through the bond of contemplative wondering. She turned abruptly to Tir-Zen.

"Give me those," and took the bags from him.

She disappeared back out into the lair, and Obi-Wan felt the air grow lighter, if emptier, too. Tir-Zen swept some stools out with a casual flick of Force and motioned for Anakin to join him in Padawan Silent Observation. Anakin could always use practice in silent observation.

A screen changed color, and Obi-Wan focused his attention as windows started opening. Database matches for the individuals in the image. News articles from across the Republic. Obi-Wan read, and his mouth pressed to a tight line.

There were fewer protests the second time Aylee charged into the room. She resumed her position at Obi-Wan's side, leaning against the console, this time looking every inch the Jedi.

"What have you found?" she asked, eyes darting around the open windows crossing several screens.

Obi-Wan took a breath and let it out in a sigh. He pointed to screens where he'd siloed the various members of the research team. "These four are already dead," he said, his heart a stone in his chest. It was undisciplined to feel guilty about such things, and impossible to know if they ever really had a chance of affecting the outcome no matter what they'd done. He pointed to the two remaining individuals in Ujjwala's photo. "These ones . . . well, we know who they are, and so far no reports that they've died."

"So we might be in time."

"We might."

"Where are they?"

"This one"—Obi-Wan tapped on the screen—"is a geologist from Svivren." Aylee smiled faintly at that. _Of course_ the Svivreni was a geologist—half of them were. "Eilis is the only name given." He tapped the controls, switching the main screen. "This is Keersl Wagawna, forensic anthropology at the Second Pagda University in Qillo on Mrlssi. And, as far as the datanet can tell us, still breathing."

Aylee nodded and met his gaze. "Two researchers. Two Jedi."

He smiled a little. "Yes. One ship, though. I figure Mrlssi's closer. Anakin and I can get public transport there. You and Tir-Zen take the _Vesper_ to Svivren."

Aylee straightened and crossed her arms. "You're _volunteering_ to take public transport?"

Obi-Wan stood, grinning. "I volunteered _you_ as the distraction. We're trading off."

She gave him an odd look. Like perhaps equating a date with a rich man to the cramped interior of bargain space ship wasn't exactly the equivalency he was making it out to be. The odd look softened the longer she gazed at him, and eventually she nodded and cocked her head at Tir-Zen. Tee got up and checked his gear and robes.

As Aylee stepped away, Obi-Wan reached for her hand. A silly instinct, maybe, but she turned and glanced at the point of contact, giving the touch a long look before she swallowed. Obi-Wan squeezed on her fingers, and his lungs felt like fire.

She waited, a questioning look written in her eyes.

"Be careful," he managed to say. There was so much _more_ to say.

Sadness colored the edges of her expression, and the particular cut of failure sliced across Obi-Wan's chest. Aylee constructed a smile and offered it to him.

"You, too."


	19. Svivren and Mrlsst

**AYLEE**

The _Night Vesper_ hummed quietly as it slipped through hyperspace. Tir-Zen had kicked his feet up onto the console and stretched out for a nap. They were coming on almost 24 hours without sleep, and the skip from Kafrene to Svivren would be the only chance they might get for awhile. Which was, of course, why Aylee sat in the copilot seat, watching him sleep, too wired to be drowsy.

She got up, eventually. Climbed the ladder to the lounge and paced. Sat. Paced. _Beautiful_. He hadn't guarded himself from the bond. The bleed over hit her in the chest. Tir-Zen, it turned out, had assessed correctly. And yet the most Ben had been able to do was hold her hand. Wish her well.

And Jerrion! Whatever they had schemed to do to him, she hoped it wasn't . . . awful. He didn't deserve awful. They'd strolled the promenade and talked about his work. Marveled at expensive fashions. Recounted childhoods. Even if hers was borrowed. He'd touched her hands, her shoulders, her arms. Small things that nevertheless spoke desire through connection. Laughed over dinner. Shared bites of dessert.

The line between real and deception faded so thin she couldn't find it anymore.

She would, for a time, miss his company and the life of the woman she had pretended to be.

With a sigh, Aylee retired to the sleeping quarters. Just molded platforms in the walls. She stretched out, closed her eyes, and let her attention turn to Obi-Wan's presence, glowing and warm, even lightyears away. She reached, as though he were right there, inches apart, and felt the surface of the Force within, the _him_ in so much tantalizing flesh.

He did care. That much was obvious. But whether he cared more than he feared . . .

 _What's wrong?_

His voice sounded sleepy, even in her head. Of course. He'd been asleep. They should all be asleep.

 _Nothing. Sorry._

 _Liar._ It came with a soft, affectionate emotion.

She doubted he knew how cruel that was. Admitting to sheer loneliness seemed cruel right back, pushing him toward cliffs he wasn't willing to jump. She decided on:

 _Can't sleep_.

She dimmed the lights to the quarters, and curled on her side. That much was true. A long silence followed. And then a creeping sensation of heat traveled across her chest. She frowned as it traveled across her shoulders, her back, encircling. It felt like heated stones, like a blanket of desert. Across such a distance, he pressed his presence close—closer than he dared for real. Tears edged under Aylee's lashes as she let herself relax with it.

Such a bitter kindness.

But she didn't have the strength to say no.

"Master . . ." Tir-Zen's low voice roused Aylee from a light sleep, and he stood silhouetted in the doorway. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace soon."

"Thanks," she said, and swung up to sitting.

Tir-Zen bowed his head and let the door close, encasing the room in pitch black again. Aylee lifted her fingers, directing a bit of Force at the light panel to slowly brighten things. She scowled, feeling heavy, odd. It felt like sunburn across her chest, her shoulders. Everywhere she'd felt Obi-Wan's presence stung with the oversensitivity of exposure. She pulled aside the collar of her tunic to get a better look, but her skin was white and pale as ever.

That was curious. Noteworthy.

She rubbed a hand over her sternum, then got up, straightening her tunic before heading to join Tee in the cockpit. He glanced over his shoulder as she moved up behind the pilot's chair.

"Just arriving at Svivren," he said, as the ship's hum altered.

The hyperdrive spun down, and the streaks of distant stars snapped into single points. The _Vesper_ oriented itself to the Svivren poles on autopilot, and Aylee peered out at the green-gray planet, glistening in the light of a white star.

"We're coming into range of the beacons, Master," Tir-Zen tapped a key and projected a heads-up display of the planet's satellite system on the viewport.

"Are we broadcasting the diplomatic codes?"

Tir-Zen checked a control panel to his left and shook his head.

"Do it," Aylee said. On most Republic worlds, diplomatic vessels got a veritable free pass. Only Senators, ambassadors, and Jedi generally had them, and few local officials felt like delaying anyone on such a list. Political ire could be costly.

Tee flicked a switch. "Now what?"

Aylee slipped into the copilot seat and turned to a console. "Now we find Eilis. Establish a link with the local satellite network and put us in orbit."

Diplomatic credentials could get one planetside with little fuss. Consular access, being of a generally judicial nature within the Republic, opened other sorts of doors, mostly to databases and paperwork. Files. Boring things like tax records. Things which, when properly cross-referenced, could reconstruct the general movements of an individual, from their university graduation, to their credit application, to their change of residence form. Eilis wasn't an uncommon name of a planet with so many inhabitants, but only one had an ID number that also appeared on the tenure track at Ben Nannut Institute.

"What do you think?" Aylee said, turning to look at Tee.

His brow furrowed, and he closed his eyes. After a pent moment, he shrugged. "No visions. How many others are there?"

She blew out a breath. "Ten who list themselves as geologists, in one way or another."

The muscle in Tee's jaw flexed, and he turned to look at the planet. "I'd rather do something than nothing."

Sometimes waiting _was_ doing something. But she couldn't see it. Not now, not with this.

"I'm sending the coordinates to the nav computer. Takes us in."

Tee guided the ship out of orbit and dropped the Vesper through Svivren's atomsphere. Swatches of color slowly resolved into trees and rocky mountains. Nearly all of Svivren was one or the other. Where land met ocean, it fell in sheer rock cliffs. Where the rock smoothed into hills, it eroded into karst, hiding sinkholes and underground rivers amid stone cracked like weathered skin.

"Master," Tee said, frowning at the computer. "There's no spaceport at these coordinates."

"I know." Aylee spun her seat to face forward. "It's a holofilm parking lot."

"What?"

"It's twice as close, and the _Vesper_ is tiny."

Tir-Zen drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, though his shoulders inched a little toward his ears.

"It'll be fine."

"It's illegal."

" _That_ is what the diplomatic transponder's for."

Tir-Zen clenched his jaw, and she wondered if he was going to let it go. He brought the Vesper low over the trees, concentrating on his flying until the muscle in his jaw eased.

"It's really not," he said quietly.

And Aylee smiled. She leaned back in her seat. "Still too good for me, Tee."

He snorted, and they both fell to silence as Pelmino emerged from the tree line, a blocky scree of granite buildings carved and piled down a mountainside. Speeders swarmed above it like bees, dipping in and out of the mine at the mountain's peak. The holofilm theater stuck out like a bantha at a pool party. Svivreni built with wood and stone. The company that ran JRB Hololux was based in Coruscant, and their corporate image had standards to maintain. Like polished metal exteriors fifty stories high.

Tir-Zen brought the ship to a corner of the speeder pad an inconvenient walking distance from the theater entrance and set down. Aylee put Eilis's address into an imagecaster, and they hurried out into the cool Svivren afternoon. The air was thin from altitude, but profoundly cleaner than Kafrene. Aylee couldn't resist taking a deep, filling lungful, even if it made her dizzy.

Heads turned as they emerged from the ship, from across the street, across the speeder lot. They all looked farther away than Aylee thought they'd landed. She pulled up the map and started for the nearest street. Conical ears followed them like satellite dishes. And it wasn't until they were almost at the flat, tiled street that she _realized_.

The Svivreni weren't _far_. They were _tiny_.

She waved at one as they approached, and it cocked an ear with a ring piercing at her before bowing its head. It kept its eyes trained on Tir-Zen as they whisked by. Aylee glanced up at him.

"I didn't realize they were so small," she said.

Tee hunched and pulled closer to her side. "I feel like a giant."

On Aylee, the average Svivreni came to about chest height, which meant they were just about eye level with Tee's waist. Everywhere they looked, they saw the same coppery manes. The city filled with the sound of metal on stone as its citizens clopped on cloven hoofed feet.

 _Small but_ loud, Aylee thought.

Pelmino hadn't heard of landscaping, so there was nothing to absorb the sound. Just more rock and flat surfaces to bounce it around. Perhaps directional hearing made that less a cacophony.

They followed the blinking dot, crossing a few blocks and wading among the stout populace. Tir-Zen kept up a litany of apologies, pulling his cloak in close and trying to keep his strides as short as possible. They were on the right block. The houses were all built on terraces up from street level, with their numbers listed on the access stairs.

"Here." Aylee pointed up the next staircase, and her senses suddenly shuddered, as though a cloud had blotted out the sun.

Behind her, Tee grunted, and she turned to see him bracing himself against the wall. He jerked his head up, orange eyes wide.

"No," he growled it through gritted teeth.

Aylee shot a look up the slope, and her pulse quickened. A low braying sound emanated from somewhere, and she was already running by the time it registered as a scream. Tir-Zen shot by in a green blur of whipping cloak, pouring Force into his movements. Aylee opened the gates and let power flow through her muscles. Tee slammed against the door first, pounding his fists against the thick wood. He didn't shout, because it wouldn't help.

"Move!" Aylee hollered at him.

He darted aside.

She thrust a hand forward, and the door exploded. Ripped from the hinges, splintered across the front. Sawdust rained. Aylee ducked through the tiny doorway and bent as her head brushed the ceiling.

"Roof!" she shouted back, and heard the answering sound of Tir-Zen's lightsaber.

She shuffled through the tiny halls, kicking furniture and and smashing her knees and hips on carved stone.

"Hello!"

There was no room for a lightsaber inside. She let her awareness roll outward, searching for a pulse of life. There was something faint and moving to her left, and she slammed her hand against a door panel.

Faint and ebbing.

 _No. No no._

Somewhere else in the house, something thumped, but she ignored it and passed through two more doors before finding herself in a bedroom full of busted wooden furniture and a Svivreni on a pallet on the floor, bleeding out her life.

"Hold on!"

Aylee crashed to her knees, heart thumping, and reached for the creature's neck. It must be Eilis. She rolled huge, dark, fearful eyes, and her soft muzzle worked as she gasped, gurgled. A slit throat. What could she do for a slit throat? Aylee pressed both hands over the wound and felt for the flesh, for the cut, for the edges.

Blood pumped over her fingers, and she shut her eyes, concentrating.

Force beat at her back and she let it come in runnels down her arms, straight in. Just keep the blood _in_. Life flowing. Keep it in.

"Master."

She panted. Pulled at delicate membranes.

"Master . . ." Tir-Zen. Lightly. A hand on her shoulder.

"No." She jerked from his touch and pushed at the blood. Just keep it moving.

"Master." So gently. "I felt her go."

She softened her will, letting the Force return to its normal flow, and sagged. Her fingers slid through hot, wet fur as she drew them back, and they shook a little as she looked at them.

 _Fuck_ , she thought. The only clear thought in her head. She turned to look up at Tee and almost laughed. He was bent over so far his shoulder blades pressed against the ceiling, and his horns left bright scratches in the dark wood.

She lifted her eyebrows at him, and he dropped his gaze.

"I didn't see anyone," he said. "I don't— We were _right here_. I don't know how they could have gotten away so fast. Or why I couldn't sense them. I'm sorry, Master." He scowled and curled in on himself a little more.

Aylee nodded, empty of anything like accusation. _She_ had failed. Even if it was Tee's fault somehow, even if he had overlooked something or lacked a skill, responsibility fell, always, _always_ on the master. Not the apprentice.

She rolled her weight to get back on her feet and wiped the blood from her hands onto the sheet of the pallet. Eilis had a copper mane, like all her people, reddish-brown fur, and bright blue gaiters holding her black pants tight to the leg around each calf. It was meant to stand out. And it made Aylee wonder about who she had failed this time.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down.

A clatter drew closer inside the house, and Aylee turned dumbly, not even reaching for her saber. A small army of Svivreni Security officers boiled through the door, blasters drawn. One in front, notable for the red uniform, took a step closer than the rest.

"Hands up!"

Aylee lifted her eyebrows and lifted her hands. "I'm afraid we're both a little late. The killer got away."

The officer's lip curled, revealing blunt, square teeth a few shades lighter than the creature's fur. "That's not how I see it." It glanced pointedly at Aylee's raised hands.

She checked her palms, not quite clean of blood, and felt her stomach clench.

"Officer," Aylee said gently. "This isn't what it looks like."

" _Captain._ And we got reports of screaming from this house. An explosion. And a prowler. Big." The captain swiveled its eyes to Tee. "Humanish."

Aylee's spine stiffened, and her jaw set. "We came here to try to save her. We were late."

The captain snorted, dropping a cursory glance to Eilis's body. "Well I'm right on time. The two of you are coming with me."

Anger bunched in Aylee's shoulders, already aching from having to stoop. "There's a killer on the loose. Probably still on the planet. If we start a sweep now for departing ships—"

"There's a killer right here!" The captain raised the blaster a little. "And I said, you're coming with me."

"Captain." Cold. Clipped. "If we go with you, it's because we're willing to help with your investigation."

Big dark eyes narrowed, and the captain scoffed, a wet, fleshy sound through the soft lips of its muzzle. "Sure. Nothing to do with this blaster."

Aylee arched an eyebrow. "It's really not."

"Sergeant!" The captain didn't take its eyes off either of them. "Cuff the big one."

A sandy-colored officer to the captain's right holstered its weapon and took a step forward.

"Tee," Aylee said calmly, staring at the captain. "Hold him."

Tir-Zen didn't move. He didn't have to. Aylee heard him exhale, slow and measured, and the sergeant froze mid-step. The captain tore its gaze from Aylee then.

"Sergeant," it growled.

"I _can't_ , ma'am. I can't move!" The sergeant's breathing went shallow and quick with panic.

Aylee focused a calm and steady stare at the captain, who whipped back toward her, furious.

"Let him go!" Her finger touched the trigger. "Fucking Jedi."

She stared more. "No."

No one moved, except for breathing. They really had no _idea_ how little threat they posed. The control it took to let them proceed with this pantomime of power. She dared them. In her heart of hearts.

 _Push me too far. Make me do it. I am_ tired _._

Of looks like the one's on their faces.

Of the disdain in that "Jedi," which at least these creature had the courtesy to be honest about.

The silence grew cloying. The eye of a storm.

 _Ben . . ._

Aylee reached through the Force, sending a yearning, a whispered name.

 _Ben . . ._

 _I'm here._

 _Call my com._

She felt a stir of curiosity across the bond, but no questions. Just simple, blind trust that if she asked, she had good reason. The same trust she'd had in him on Kafrene.

Tir-Zen shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, making a small scraping sound with his horns against the ceiling.

And then Aylee's comlink chimed with a cheerful melody, bursting the bubble. The captain glanced at it on her belt, and Aylee motioned with the tips of her fingers that perhaps someone should take the call. The Svivreni captain was going to be that someone. She snatched the comlink, still keeping her blaster trained.

"Hello?"

There was a distinct pause before, "Um, hello. Who is this?"

"Captain Thessa, Svivreni Security. And you are?"

"Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Another Jedi?"

"Yes. And . . . where's the first one?"

Thessa's lip curled again. "Being taken into custody."

Obi-Wan sighed loudly through the comlink. "Eilis is dead, then, I take it?"

Thessa gave the com a startled look. "So it _was_ premeditated."

Aylee rolled her eyes. "Of course. Just not by us."

"How convenient."

"No," Aylee said, her voice dropping. "It really isn't."

"But your friend here knew what happened without you saying it!" Thessa shook the comlink in Aylee's direction.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "Captain, you're the local authorities. You wouldn't be there if anything _good_ had happened."

Aylee lifted her eyebrows, and Captain Thessa stared at her, smoldering. She couldn't argue with that, though it was clear she wanted to.

"Obi-Wan, maybe I should call you back," Aylee said evenly.

He hummed, sounding unperturbed. "Be sure that you do."

The comlink clicked and the light went off as he ended the connection. Thessa put the comlink under the band of her belt. Belligerent. Suspicious. Like everyone. _Always._

"Captain." Aylee spit the word, her anger coming to a fine point. She lowered her hands slowly, feeling Force rush around her legs and splash to the hip. "We'll come with you, but let me be perfectly clear." She leaned forward a little, smiling. "The moment you start treating us like criminals, I treat you like corpses." She looked at Tee, letting the captain's blaster hover near her chest. "Let him go."

Tir-Zen's shoulders relaxed, and the sergeant stumbled back from him into the grasps of his fellow officers. Captain Thessa vibrated with fury as she holstered her blaster, a signal to the others to do the same.

"Follow. Me," she said, each word a punch. "If you _please_."

Aylee offered a curt grin and gestured that Thessa should lead the way. The other officers shouldered each other out of their path, giving Tee the widest berth. He bumped his head against the ceiling several times, leaving more scars, and dropped to his knees to crawl out the front door. A crowd had gathered outside, and Aylee stood straighter while she followed the captain down the steps, not looking any of the Svivreni observers in the eye.

 **OBI-WAN**

Public transportation in the Republic fell generally into several categories. Hoppers were the interplanetary equivalent of a taxi. They were licensed and hired for single, and occasion multiple, point to point transportation for a few individuals. Given the length of most hyperspace journeys, that also made them expensive.

Circus Lines moved the masses. Giant cruisers picked up and dropped off at the same planets on the same schedule as often as physics would allow. It could take weeks to get to your destination if there were enough intervening stops. The sheer length of time meant the ships had to provide accommodations of one kind or another for food, sleep, and waste disposal. But the Senate provided funding based on occupancy, which meant the more travelers crammed into the cruiser, the better for the Circus agency. Circ tickets could be had for a fraction of the cost of a hopper, and destination didn't matter. The cruiser was going to stop, regardless of who got on or off.

Vagrancy on a Circ ship was a legitimate way of life for someone with no home or no credits. Despite a great many Senate hearings on the matter, the Agency couldn't come to an agreement on the best solution for keeping The Good customers happy while turning The Bad ones into someone else's problem.

The Gillies made their living somewhere in between. Unlicensed. Uninspected. Semi-private. Mostly illegal. Interplanetary transportation on any class ship the gilly could press to service. Some sold themselves as a cheaper luxury alternative to a hopper. Some as the cheaper alternative to a Circ. You got what you paid for, in either case.

Kafrene was an impossible starting point to get _anywhere_ worth going. Sure, a Blue Line Circ ship came by once every three weeks, but that was 3/4 of the way through its route, and every planet after eeked farther toward the Outer Rim, without ever quite going there. And then it spiraled back through minor trading posts before hitting Coruscant again. Mrlssi wasn't even on the list. It required a transfer at Thyferra, where the Green Line followed the Shapani Bypass and stopped at all the major Tapani sector worlds, Mrlssi being the last, before it struck out to the Rimma Trade Route planets and disappeared for a good week.

So. The Circ Line was out. No route took fewer than ten stops. That was a lot of time that Keersl Wagawna didn't have.

"Public transport not solving your problems?"

A woman's voice, deep, smoky, accented like his own, pulled Obi-Wan's attention from the Circus Line map. She had chestnut skin and black hair pulled into a braid over one shoulder. The burgundy leather jumpsuit she wore read as a uniform and not a style choice.

"Not really, no . . ." he replied, drawing the words out as he turned to face her.

She smiled easily and cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe I can solve your problems."

He offered a small smile back. "I checked the hopper station, and there weren't any."

She shrugged and blinked slowly. "I'm not a hopper."

"Gilly."

"Whoa! Really?" Anakin swung out from behind the shield of Obi-Wan's cloak and stared at the woman in open-mouthed awe. "Which one?"

She tilted her head at him, frowning. "Which . . . one?"

Anakin stepped out into full view. "You know, the _Sparkling Maw_ , the _Nautilus Sunset_ . . ." He paused for dramatic effect, eyes going wider. " _The Horansi_."

"Sparkling Maw?" Obi-Wan echoed.

The woman's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know those names?"

"Are you kidding! They're legend!"

It was difficult to tell whether the woman was more shocked or appalled. "Legend _where_?"

Anakin frowned and glanced up at Obi-Wan, his enthusiasm suddenly curling back under its shell. Obi-Wan lifted his eyebrows encouragingly, and after a moment of pondering, Anakin decided to go on.

"Well. Hoppers all want to be podracers, right?" He glanced between the two adults.

Obi-Wan shrugged and nodded, because it seemed to require a reply.

"Well, podracers all dream of being gillies."

Obi-Wan cast a glance at the woman, and she gave him a skeptical look.

"Why?" he asked Anakin, truly curious.

Anakin rolled his eyes and leveled a look distinctly curated to communicate how much he was disappointed in his master's cultural knowledge. Again. "Be- _cause_ ," he said, emphasis added, "they get to travel the galaxy! Make their own rules. Their own schedules. They mod their ships, and no one cares!"

"I . . . wouldn't put it like that," the woman cut in.

"No regulations! Just . . . free. Money. Adventure. And _way_ less dangerous than podracing."

A line creased Obi-Wan's brow. "I thought danger was the point of podracing."

"It is," Anakin said, sobering. His voice grew soft. "When racers get slow, they die. The pod owner gets someone new. Maybe someone who doesn't have much choice."

"You—wait, are you telling me podracers are indentured servants?" A note of horror rang in Obi-Wan's voice.

Anakin offered a shrug and a slow nod. "Gillies would come through Mos Eisley now and again. We'd listen to them talk about the places they'd seen. And the work they'd done on their ships. Podracers love to talk about ships." The smile on his face stained with something, sehnsucht, perhaps for the life he'd once envisioned for himself.

The woman stood watching them with crossed arms and a calculating expression. Her face smoothed as Anakin turned to her.

" _Wicked Stallion_ ," she said, and Anakin sucked in a breath.

"Ga- _lac_ -tic . . ." the boy breathed, eyes wide.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "It would seem your reputation precedes you, miss . . ."

"Vaundri." She didn't offer her hand, instead smirking at Anakin's fidgeting from foot to foot. "I guess this saves me the sales pitch."

"Actually"—Obi-Wan crossed his arms—"I think I'd like to hear it."

The smirk grew to a smile and she tipped her head obligingly. "Vaundri Shalasu, owner and pilot of the _Wicked Stallion_ , a modified _Rilus_ -class corvette with a class 1 hyperdrive. I've flown Core Systems. Inner Rim, Outer Rim, and I'll go to Minos for the right price. Double-redundant shield and stabilizer systems makes her the smoothest ride in the galaxy. Quote upfront, discounts if I miss the mark." She swayed a step toward Obi-Wan and let her arms drop. "Interested?"

The corners of his mouth turned up. "It's a good pitch."

"It's a good ship."

"How's the pilot?"

"Reliable and fair."

Obi-Wan let impressions from the Force touch his senses and he found no deception in her. He turned to Anakin, stroking at his chin in a pantomime of thoughtfulness. "What do you think?"

Anakin tore his eyes away from Vaundri and blinked. "I . . . think there's a good chance her ship is faster than a hopper, Master." He glanced at her again. "If the stories are true."

Vaundri winked, and Anakin turned a shade pinker as he turned away. Obi-Wan hid a smile beneath his hand, and then wiped a serious expression onto his face.

"All right, Ms. Shalasu. We're going to Mrlssi."

Vaundri bowed her head and plucked a datapad from her belt. She tapped it a few times and nodded to herself, before glancing up. "Five hundred credits, and I'll get you there in 7 hours."

Seven hours compared to the Circus's ninety-six. She had them over a sarlacc pit. But might not know just how much . . .

"Five hundred!" Obi-Wan put on his best look of dismay. "That's robbery!"

Vaundri narrowed her eyes. "Aren't Jedi funded by the Senate?"

Surprise flashed across his face, the whole negotiation scenario he'd laid out collapsed. "What?"

"The Temple. Isn't it funded by the Senate?"

"Well—" Master Yoda's voice echoed in his ears about the Star Bloom Festival and the need to score political point. "Well, yes."

"So . . ." She tapped the datapad against her palm. "Then you're really just spending _my_ taxes."

Obi-Wan frowned. "I . . . supposed that's true."

"Then, in the spirit of returning to me what I've already earned . . . Five hundred."

Something about it seemed wrong, but the longer they stood arguing, the longer it would be before they got to their destination.

Obi-Wan sighed, frowning. "You drive a hard bargain Ms. Shalasu, but, all right. We'll take it."

"Excellent." She smiled and held out her datapad to collect a fingerprint signature on the contract.

Anakin failed at suppressing a smile. And when Vaundri turned with a wave of her hand, motioning for them to follow, he threw both hands in the air in victory.

"Master!" he whispered too loudly. "This is . . . The _Stallion Wicked_! This is so . . ."

"Let me guess. Galactic," Obi-Wan drawled.

Anakin beamed, like the first day of lightsaber training, and Obi-Wan chuckled.

"I don't get why you're so excited about a taxi," he said, and to his surprise Anakin shushed him.

"Don't call it that!"

"But—"

"You'll see, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed inwardly and kept pace with their pilot, very much doubting that he would.

The _Stallion Wicked_ looked like nothing else in the hangar. It was sleek where the C90's were boxy. Matte black except for the lettering along the hull and a stylized horse with flames for a mane painted in a fluorescent red that strained the eye. The color didn't quite match Vaundri's uniform, but the theme was certainly there. Vaundri tossed a credit chip at the Sullustan stevedore mopping up bay causeway as she passed, and the man caught it with a little salute.

At least Obi-Wan hadn't fallen for a scam played on newbies. Standard operation procedure on Kafrene, if a gilly was paying a protection fee. As they neared the aft of the ship, Anakin's eyes drifted upward.

"Whoa . . ." he said quietly.

Obi-Wan glanced at him.

"Those aren't standard engines," the boy said, and he snapped his gaze down to the back of Vaundri's head. "You didn't mention Loxan-class afterburners."

She slowed and shot a smile over her shoulder as they passed beneath the engine. "Didn't I? Must have slipped my mind."

Vaundri tapped a control on the forearm of her suit, and the ship immediately hissed in reply as the hydraulics lowered a cargo plank. Anakin turned to keep staring at the engines, and Obi-Wan hooked a hand into his collar to keep him from falling sideways off the ramp.

There was no cargo hold. Rilus-class ships were strictly scout and personal cruise vessels. The ramp led straight into the cockpit and slipped back into the hull once the door was closed. Seat lined both sides of the rear of cockpit, with the sealed door visible in the floor between them. Corridors on either side housed bunks and a kitchen, according to Vaundri's brief tour.

"Is there an upper deck?" Obi-Wan asked as he strapped into one of the rear seats.

Vaundri glanced up at a series of switches above the console and selected two to flick. "Afraid not. I know it looks like there should be, but it's all coolant, engine, and shield generators."

Anakin dropped himself in the co-pilot seat and buckled in, touching his fingers lightly along some of the controls. Vaundri eyed him.

"You a pilot, kid?"

"Yes."

"Debatable!" Obi-Wan called from the back.

Anakin cut him a scathing look before looking at Vaundri again. "He thinks I fly too fast."

"Hah!" The woman threw her head back and laughed in a tone that sounded like wine. "No such thing as _too_ fast." She swiveled her chair to catch Obi-Wan's eye. "You don't mind if I give him a job, do you?"

"Mind?" He gestured at them. "By all means." Someone else watching Anakin meant he wouldn't have to.

Vaundri returned a curt nod, faced forward, and strapped in. "Hit the coms for me, will you?"

Anakin searched the control for a second, then complied.

"Kafrene Control, this is _Stallion Wicked_ requesting clearance to depart."

A moment later. " _Stallion Wicked_ , this is control. Two incoming, then you're cleared to depart. Sending vector now."

A heads-up display sprang to life on the ship's viewport, and Vaundri tipped her head back so her voice would carry.

"By the way. Jedi. What's your name?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he called. "And your co-pilot is Anakin Skywalker."

Vaundri angled a look to her side. "Skywalker. I like that. Good name for a pilot. Maybe we'll see what you can do, hmm?"

Anakin's jaw hung open for a second before he managed a, "Y-yes, ma'am!" with a genuine reverence that Obi-Wan wouldn't mind hearing now and again.

Kafrene Control came back with clearance to depart, and whatever conversation Vaundri and Anakin might have lapsed into disappeared into the roar of the engines not too terribly far from Obi-Wan's head. If loudness could be a silence, it accomplished just that.

Vaundri let Anakin spin up the hyperdrive, adding a new harmonic to the thunder vibrating Obi-Wan's organs, and issued the order to jump. As soon as the ship slipped into hyperspace, the roaring changed again, evening into a drone, a dull, soothing white noise that tugged at Obi-Wan's eyelids and filled his limbs with sand.

How long had it been since he'd slept?

How many days since unearthing the Council's lies. Enough that he felt the threshold of his endurance. Every runner hit a wall eventually. Since that day in the park, he'd kept himself too busy to think. Too focused on the next step and the next.

The cuts still bled, their edges closed by discipline and effort alone. But now . . . so tired . . .

He couldn't help but let them go, and feel the ache of Aylee's distance. Disappointment—in him. Was he made of such insubstantial material that only the walls erected by rules gave him shape?

 _Am I nothing but what they made me?_

He didn't feel like nothing.

The droning draping a heavy blanket over him, scattering his thoughts with the weightlessness of dreams.

 _Ben . . ._

He smiled a little at the sound of his name—too close to the edge of consciousness to ponder that further. _His_ name.

Something felt cool on his skin, then spread through his body like a gulp of fresh water. He roused just enough to realize it wasn't a memory, but a current sensation. Aylee's presence, shimmering and flashing with the activity of agitation. He pulled his thoughts into order, waking just enough.

 _What's wrong?_

It should be shocking that they could talk at this distance, an ever widening gap across the universe. But the thoughts flowed as quickly and freely as they did in the same room. Miraculous hardly described it.

 _Nothing. Sorry._

He smiled to himself, as he got the impression of having startled her. Or perhaps, caught her staring when she thought he wasn't looking—like she wasn't allowed.

 _Liar_ , he said, whispering the word for real, so it lingered and rounded on his tongue. No one would hear over the sound of the engines.

 _Couldn't sleep_.

He considered that admission. It seemed simple and honest on the surface. It undermined the efforts of pulling away, the carefully constructed space she'd been giving him to patch his own wounds in his own time.

Comfort.

That's what this touch across the galaxy sought.

Comfort against the darkness as plainly as if she gripped his hand. And he had comfort to give.

He concentrated on her presence in the Force, on the bond that made her the easiest star in the universe to find. He imagined pressing his hands to the sensation of water, the memory of ease. The Force in him shivered with the contact of surfaces as he pictured drawing her back into his chest, winding his arms around her body. Resting his cheek on her hair.

It was an effort of will to hold that image, project Force through the bond to make it real. Obi-Wan let his mind center on it, like a meditation mantra. He could feel on his skin as though it were real. But the exhaustion tugged. And the drone exerted a constant, gentle pressure. And he slipped somewhere across the line into a dream of his apartment at the Temple. Rousing under warm sheets as a body shifted against him, and tucking closer, pulling the blankets up further as a shield against a looming, silvery cold.

Anakin woke him, shaking his shoulder, and Obi-Wan blinked to consciousness to find himself still strapped into the chair at the rear of the cockpit.

"What?" he croaked, bleary, gazing around until the world came into focus.

His arms ached, and he frowned, stretching his shoulders.

"Mrlssi," Anakin said, rubbing at his own eyes and yawning. "Vaundri says we'll be there soon. It's evening, local time."

Obi-Wan grunted a reply and hit the button to disengage his harness. He scowled as he stood and rubbed at the center of his chest, where something burned both hot an empty, like a muscle at exhaustion, or the weakness around a wound.

"All right," he said, voice thick, and glanced at Anakin. "Did you sleep?"

"Some."

Obi-Wan nodded and started for the kitchen half of the ship. Vaundri swiveled around in her chair and eyed him.

"You know, we _had_ beds."

Obi-Wan shrugged slowly at her. "But I so _enjoyed_ the engine sound."

"Yeah." She smirked. "Vibration does it for me, too." She turned back to the viewport. "There's caf in the top cabinet."

He stared at her a moment, long enough for the embarrassment to wash through. "That obvious, is it?"

She bubbled a laugh. "Only when I'm looking."

He grunted again, a displeased sound, and went to find the caf. There was a box in the upper cabinet filled with packets exactly like the ones Tir-Zen kept on him. Self-heating. Just add water. He found a small box hand-labeled with the word "jaggery" in the same cabinet and opened it to find an amber gravel that smelled faintly sweet. His stomach squeezed with a reminder that he hadn't eaten lately either.

Qui-Gon always had a few things to say about remembering the needs of the body while attending the needs of the soul. He could imagine his old master frowning in concerned disapproval and plucked a large rock from the box, dropping it into the caf. At least, he hoped that's what it was for.

A quick scour of the kitchen revealed some boxes of instant rice dishes and bags of dried meat. He tucked the biltong into a pouch on his hip. For the price of the fare, he considered anything he found to be included. The rice boxes used the same self-heating tech as the caf, and Obi-Wan called Anakin over once they were steaming.

"Here. Eat."

Anakin eyed the yellow rice and sniffed at it. "What is it?"

Obi-Wan picked up a box and a spoon. "I have no idea."

Good, it turned out. More than good. The heat of spice hit the back of his throat. There was something a little bitter, a little sweet. Savory and aromatic. His stomach gurgled, revived to the notion that food existed and he was famished. He ate until he was scraping the box and then pondered a second. He grabbed another box and dropped it into the satchel at his hip with the notion that perhaps Aylee would like it.

No, she definitely would. If it lasted that long.

Obi-Wan left Anakin making faces at his food and carried his cup of caf back to the cockpit. He sat carefully in the co-pilot seat and swirled the hot drink before taking a sip. Thick and syrupy and almost civilized.

Vaundri swiveled her chair to face him, and he glanced over at the motion. She very deliberately crossed one leg over the other, watching.

"So," she said, velvet smooth, crossing her arms over her chest. "Come here often?"

Obi-Wan ducked his head, smiling into the cup as his face heated. He took a moment to collect himself and set the caf aside, angling his chair in her direction.

"No," he said, making the words gilded. "It's my first time."

Vaundri's smile broadened, and a small throaty chuckle escaped. "It's a lovely planet if you like universities and smart bird-folk."

"You don't?"

She shrugged, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Well"—he made a show of taking another sip and setting the cup down before leaning on the armrest in her direction—"what do you look for in a planet?"

Her dark eyes sparkled. "A little adventure. A little danger." She shrugged.

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. "I think, Ms. Shalasu, you'll find that's possible on any planet."

"Tsch!" She cut at him with a quick gesture. "Ms. Shalasu's my mother." She ticked her head toward the kitchen with a slow smile. "You ate her food."

"You mother's a cook?"

"A _chef_." Vaundri jabbed a finger at him for emphasis. "Who approves of neither adventure nor danger."

Obi-Wan studied her for a moment, weighing the benefits of digging further. At his silence, she sighed, unfolded, and faced the viewport.

"I didn't mean any disrespect," he ventured.

"No. Neither does she."

Obi-Wan glanced at the readings on the screen and swirled his cup, melting most of the jaggery down in what little caf was left.

"How long til we arrive?"

"Half hour, or so. It should be early evening by the time we land, if we're heading to the capital." She looked over. "Most people head to the capital."

"Qillo, actually."

She tipped her head and brought up a map on the front display. Qillo was slightly west of the capital, along a significant river. Vaundri set the coms channel to the Qillo spaceport and sat back again.

Space travel. So much waiting.

Waiting . . .

Obi-Wan frowned.

"How long will you be on planet once we leave?"

The gilly turned, studying him. "Not sure. Why?"

"Because . . . I still don't have a ship. And I'll have to get back to Coruscant when I'm done."

She tapped a finger on the console and narrowed her eyes. "Coruscant's a long way."

"Yes, it is."

"That would be expensive."

"Yes, it would."

Vaundri smiled. "For a contract like that, I'd be inclined to wait awhile." She rolled her lips over her teeth, thoughtful. "How long do you think you'd be?"

Obi-Wan averted his eyes to the streaks of stars. "I don't know. Either I find the man I'm looking for, alive, and I bring him back to Coruscant with me. Or I find him dead."

Vaundri turned her chair to face him again and leaned forward a little. "Dead how?"

"Assassination."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Starting to soudn like my kind of planet."

"Vaundri . . ." Chiding.

She pressed her lips together at his tone. "I may not be a Jedi, Master Kenobi"—she lifted her elbow to show her hip—"but I know my way around a blaster." She leaned closer, a seductive, impish smile working it's way across dark lips. "Or did you think pilot was the only thing on my menu?"

Obi-Wan set his nearly empty cup aside and mirrored her pose, feeling his pulse quicken.

"What makes you think I need a mercenary?" he asked, voice soft.

"I don't . . . I think you need a pilot. But . . ." Her shoulders lifted briefly. "If you sign a contract for Coruscant, it's very much in my interest to make sure you get there."

Obi-Wan hummed and sat back, watching her do the same.

"So . . . this is what gillies really do."

She made a noncommital gesture. "It's what the _Stallion Wicked_ does."

"And why there are stories told about taxi drivers." He nodded to himself and glanced over Vaundri's shoulder toward Anakin, who stood watching from the kitchen door. Anakin nodded furiously, and Obi-Wan let out a breath of amusement. "All right Ms.—" He caught himself. "Vaundri. One contract from Mrlssi to Coruscant. All the trimmings."

The ship shivered as it dropped out of hyperspace and hummed louder as the engines switched propulsion methods. It wasn't the same bone-dispersing thrum up by the pilot's seat, thankfully. Automatic systems checked the telemetry of the planet and ship's hull, and as the corrections brought them around, Mrlssi swept into the viewport—a globe of verdant green in many shades and purple seas whose color was clear even from space.

"Welcome to Mrlssi," Vaundri said, and reached to hit the coms. "Qillo Spaceport, this is _Stallion Wicked_ , requesting permission to land."

A moment later, the grating squawk of a Mrlssi came back to them. " _Stallion 'icked_ , this is Qillo Landing. You're on sensors. 'roceed to 'ollowing co-ordinates." The long vowel sound broke in the middle as the creature's avian throat worked a sound its beak could not.

Vaundri gave the screen a nod and dropped them swiftly into the planet's atmosphere.

Obi-Wan had been to many strange planets with unbelievable adaptations of plant life. He had a mental catalog of Gooey planets and Gassy planets and Flowers Will Eat You planets. Some planets believed all plants should be vines. The Spikey planets should really be avoided at all costs, even moreso than the Flowers Will Eat You kind, because at least there you can sit and rest without taking up farming first.

He had not yet seen anything the greenstalks on Mrlsst. As soon as they go close enough to the planet surface to make out details, it became clear that the greenstalks were the details. They grew everywhere, like protective spines from the crust. Monstrously thick in diameter and perfectly columnar. From a distance, the shape looked like the surface of a pine cone—overlaid layers in off-set rows.

As Vaundri brought the Stallion to a steady height above the stalks, one could see they had leaves, too. Patterns on patterns. Obi-Wan found himself leaning forward over the console trying to get a better look. Vaundri's reflection smiled at him.

"Those things are _everywhere_. And I mean everywhere. If there's dirt, they're growing. Might even grow underwater for all I know."

He glanced at her and dropped back into his chair. "How big do they get?"

She shrugged. "Oldest one can't be any older than when the continents settled. So I guess no one really knows."

The expanse of greenstalks dropped suddenly in height, and Vaundri eased back on the throttle. The fauna gave way to a wide, muddy river, and on the far side, greenstalks infested with the white shells of buildings from their bases to their tops. They grew from the sides like fungus arranged in shelf layers. Some had walkways connecting stalk to stalk.

Vaundri aimed the ship toward a tall stalk with a wide platform around its circumference and blinking lights at each cardinal direction point. The stalk continued to grow up through the middle, and Obi-Wan wondered if that was more choice or necessity. The sheer mass of the things . . .

The Stallion Wicked's engines spun down as they neared the landing pad, and Vaundri set them into place with an easy, practiced grace. She flipped a switch on her console and pointed at the heads up display.

6:47

Obi-Wan looked at it. Then her.

She smirked. "Seven hour contract. Your flight time was six hours, forty-seven minutes." She winked, and Obi-Wan smiled.

"Well done," he said, a begrudging indulgence in his tone. "Now. Shall we?"

"You might"—Vaundri said, pulling the Jedi to a halt with her tone—"want to lose the cloaks. Just . . . a suggestion." She snapped off the sleeves of her jump suit and unzipped a panel of cloth on each leg, revealed mesh.

Obi-Wan glanced at his padawan, nodded, and they left their cloaks on the copilot's seat as advised. Anakin was the first out of the ship, jogging down the ramp until the full force of the Mrlsst climate slapped him across the face. Heat, in a thick, damp, sweat-inducing wave.

"Ugh . . ." Anakin's steps faltered, and he turned to look back toward the ship, his face twisted in disgust.

Obi-Wan scowled up and around. It was like breathing in a sauna. His gaze landed on Anakin. "You come from the desert," he said, catching up.

Anakin leveled a look of scorn his way. "The desert is _dry_. This is gross."

"Told you," Vaundri muttered, grinning and she swept by. "Exit's this way."

They took an elevator down the greenstalk, and Obi-Wan used the time to grab a map from the local datanet. The only thing he knew about Keersl was his day job. Second Pagda University. While he studied the map, Vaundri checked her blaster and assorted weaponry, belt, and the clip holding her hair tight. Anakin studied Vaundri. If she noticed, she didn't seem to care.

"Are we still in working hours on this planet?" Obi-Wan asked as he spun the map and in the imagecaster and marked a destination.

"Barely. Thirty hour days on Mrlsst. They usually stop at 19:00, and it's half-past 18:00 now."

Obi-Wan looked out at the city, just starting to filter pink twilight. "We're north of the equator. So . . . it'll be dark soon."

Vaundri wiggled in a way that didn't quite agree. "Long sunsets here. But the greenstalks change things."

Obi-Wan gazed around them as the ground rushed upward. "Altitude," he said, mostly to himself. Day at the top and night at the bottom.

The elevator emptied them into a customs queue, but a quick check of Obi-Wan's comlink and the very obvious lightsaber on his and Anakin's belts had them waved through and out into Qillo proper.

"We need to get to the university. I've no idea where our forensic archaeologist lives, but they must."

"That's what we're after?" Vaundri pointed toward a speeder rental depot nearby. "An archaeologist?"

Obi-Wan nodded and started for the depot. "Archaeology is apparently a cut-throat business these days," he said, all levity gone from his voice.

Vaundri fell silent and dropped back to match pace with Anakin. She didn't need the full details, and Obi-Wan felt disinclined to offer them. Not about her, really. Just that the fewer people who knew what they were really up to, the fewer complications that might need tracking down later.

Need to know.

She didn't.

Obi-Wan rented a simple four-person speeder built for off-worlder dimensions and gave a long, skeptical look at the speeder bike Vaundri slowed to a halt beside them. She smiled. Flexed her eyebrows playfully.

"Master, can I—"

"No."

"But there are two—"

 _"No."_ He tossed his imagecaster into Anakin's lap. "Navigate instead."

Anakin heaved a sigh and cupped the device in his palms, and Obi-Wan drove them onto the main causeway. Speeders crossed the Qillo sky at three main levels, and given that the greenstalks were the major buildings at all heights, the traffic patterns mirrored one another.

They were also relentlessly circular. Roundabouts at every possible formulation of intersection. Roundabouts comprised of smaller roundabouts. Obi-Wan's grip on the yoke tightened, and his temples ached from his clenched jaw.

"Take the third . . ."

"Here?"

"No, fourth—"

"Here?"

"No. Yes!"

"Anakin!"

"Yes!"

A Mrlssi with an impressively colored crown of feathers screeched loudly at them, shaking a feathered hand in the air as they sailed across its path against all customs of local traffic laws. Obi-Wan cursed and pressed himself back into his seat, heart pounding. He swabbed at his forehead with the heavy sleeve of his tunic and concentrated on breathing.

It wasn't Anakin's fault. The civil engineer behind Qillo's traffic patterns must have had a side job as an evolutionary biologist.

"What next?" he said, forcing himself to calm.

Anakin spun the map. "It should be just ahead, on the left. We couldn't—" He glanced up from the map to the actual landscape, and his jaw dropped. "Whoa."

"What?"

"Miss it. We couldn't miss it."

Anakin pointed in Obi-Wan's line of sight, and he tore his eyes from the road long enough to follow it. The university was . . . enormous. And indeed he could not have missed it if he tried. They had to swing around another roundabout to pull into the speeder lot, and Obi-Wan parked with a great sense of relief. Vaundri pulled her bike up beside, and Anakin shoved the imagecaster back into Obi-Wan's slack hand as they all peered upward at the structure.

From ground to top, white building jutted from the stalk like a layer cake. It stretched to neighboring stalks, encompassing those. Several nearby were strung together with causeways built with varying degrees of permanence. The university had built up before it built out and so took on the general shape of a giant pipe organ.

"He's somewhere in there?" Vaundri said, her skepticism turning her words molasses.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan tipped his head back, scanning all the way to the top where sunlight turned the building rose. "But someone must."

He started for the entrance. All around them, Mrlssi traveled together in flocks of threes and fours, speaking to each other in a whistled birdsong that human throats couldn't dream of replicating. They might find Basic difficult, but most of the galaxy would find Mrlssi impossible without a droid or, perhaps, the right musical instrument. The "lawn" of the Second Padga University was, in fact, a well-maintained swamp. The groundskeepers had clearly curated a selection of lilypads and flowering fauna to grow between the plastoid sidewalks and streets and around the bases of infant greenstalks.

All paths led to the same vast entrance at the base of the largest stalk, and Obi-Wan marched for it, feeling grim among so much life and music. He let the tight hold on his senses slip a little, curious. At first, he sensed the lilypads and their softly pulsing Force, then the flowers like gossamer scent on the air. They passed by a baby greenstalk, and Obi-Wan shrank from it without meaning to, the shining concentration of its Living Force almost blinding. It burst with growth, with life, all its future potential compacted down and churning with activity.

He slowed and turned to look at it—a column maybe three feet thick, already showing that pine cone shape. From this distance, he could see large thorns between the leaves as they moved with the wind. It felt bigger in the Force than it looked, and he turned a wary gaze toward the university's main stalk.

"Master?" Anakin frowned up at him.

He gave the boy a look, and something in his stomach clenched. The most useful lesson for any novice was learning their limits.

Obi-Wan shook his head and closed off his senses. "Nothing. Just . . . testing something Aylee showed me."

"A Force power?" Anakin asked as they started moving again.

"Yes."

Anakin bounced a little, trotting so he could get ahead and turn around. "Can you show me?"

"I—maybe." The boy's face fell. "I don't—" Anakin turned away. "I don't know it well enough to teach anyone," Obi-Wan said, and took a few extra strides to catch up. He put a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "When I do, you'll be the first, all right?"

The look Anakin gave him passed from calculating to placated. "Okay. Do you promise?"

He let his hand slide off. "I do."

And then they were at the steps leading into the main hall. Anakin stepped through with ease and turned when Obi-Wan wasn't immediately on his heels. He poked his head back out to find the two _adult_ humans scowling.

Mrlssi, as a species, stood only about a meter high. Taller than Master Yoda, shorter than Anakin, and about the height of Obi-Wan's hip. And their universities, while renown throughout the galaxy, turned out mostly Mrlssi graduates. In short, mature humans were the wrong size.

The grand entryway to the Second Padga University at Qillo required Obi-Wan to duck to get inside. He eyed Anakin skeptically.

"How high are the ceilings?"

"Uh . . ." the boy peered up and then stretched up his hand as far as he could reach. "There's still a few centimeters."

Obi-Wan made a face and muttered to himself and he ducked through the door, instinctively hunching, even though Anakin's assessment had been correct.

Aside from not being built to human scale, universities weren't built for visitors; there was nothing like a reception desk, but there was a directory.

"Administration floors five through ten . . ." Obi-Wan read aloud and turned to look for an elevator.

"I thought he was a forensic archaeologist," Anakin said, frowning.

"Yes. But, someone signs the paychecks. And they'll know where he is." Obi-Wan checked the signs as they walked around the wheel of the building. _Everything_ in this place was circles. "When in doubt, Anakin, follow the money."

Vaundri made an amused sound and went last into the elevator, her hand resting easily on the grip of blaster.

Administration _did_ have Reception, and Obi-Wan found himself looking down at a gray-feathered Mrlssi with blue crown plumage and jeweled glasses. He tried leaning the tips of his fingers against the top of her desk but felt foolish and stopped, settling for a formal folding of his hands and a bow.

"Good evening," he said, with practiced pleasantness. "I'm wondering if you could help me."

The secretary drew off her glasses and let them hang from her fingers, peering up at him with tired, yellow eyes.

"What can I do 'or you?" she said in that broken, stilted way formed more by tongue than lips.

"I'm looking for a professor here. Keersl Wagawna."

"Keersl . . ." she repeated, drawing out the vowel sounds. She looked away and tapped on a control on her desk before touching a blinking earbud. She level a bored stare in Obi-Wan's direction, shifting her gaze to Anakin, who smiled, and Vaundri, who didn't. She tapped a claw rhythmically for a solid minute, then pressed the earbud again. "Not here," she said, and blinked.

"I see." Obi-Wan bent a little more, trying to get closer without looming. "Could you tell me where he lives? It's very urgent."

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

"That information is con'idential. We do not girrre out teacher data to anyone asking. Are you . . . security?"

Obi-Wan compressed his lips. "I—"

 _Ben . . ._

"—really must insist."

 _Ben . . ._

He held up his hand toward the secretary bird with a finger lifted, begging patience, and shut his eyes.

 _I'm here,_ he sent.

 _Call my com._

Obi-Wan frowned as he opened his eyes and plucked his comlink from his belt. The secretary arched an eyebrow at him but he gestured again for her indulgence and click the comlink to Aylee's frequency. Vaundri slid into his peripheral vision, her arms crossed and dark brows drawn together.

The comlink chimed twice. And then:

"Hello?"An unfamiliar voice.

Obi-Wan blinked at the little device as though it had betrayed him. "Um, hello. Who is this?"

"Captain Thessa, Svivreni Security. And you are?"

 _Oh dear._ "Master Obi-Wan Kenobi," he replied, frowning.

"Another Jedi?" Captain Thessa's irritation joined them at the secretary's desk, and Obi-Wan glanced at the bird-woman to find her watching with interest.

"Yes. And . . . where's the first one?"

He hadn't felt anything through the Force. Nothing like what Aylee described when he'd been wounded. No calls of alarm.

"Being taken into custody."

Obi-Wan sighed loudly, shutting his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Eilis is dead, then, I take it?"

Captain Thessa caught an audible breath."So it _was_ premeditated."

"Of course. Just not by us." Aylee. Finally.

Obi-Wan's chest loosened.

"How convenient," Captain Thessa shot back.

"No," Aylee said, her voice going grim. "It really isn't."

"But your friend here knew what happened without you saying it!"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and glanced around at his small audience. He cleared his throat. "Captain," he said gently, the most reasonable of men, "you're the local authorities. You wouldn't be there if anything _good_ had happened."

It was true. And, he hoped, enough to Aylee the upper hand she was looking for.

Fuck. _Fuck . . ._ Another one dead. The heat and the thick air wrapped around his throat. He felt his skin flash cold, then heated again.He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, waiting for something on the other end of the line to suggest a next move.

"Obi-Wan, maybe I should call you back," Aylee said evenly.

He hummed and swallowed down a little dizziness. "Be sure that you do."

The comlink clicked off, and this time Obi-Wan rested his palms on the secretary's desk no matter how foolish it felt.

Another one.

Shit. Failure loomed suddenly high in his mind, an oppressive weight of could-haves and should-haves, and he could not let _bureaucracy_ stand in the way. Institutions, it seemed, could ruin lives through the rigidity of their best intentions.

He lifted his head slowly and met the secretary's yellow eyes. Then he reached into his satchel and drew out the datapad with Ujjwala's image and handed it over.

"There are six people in that photo," he said quietly. "And now . . . every single one of them has been murdered. Except, if we are lucky, for Keersl."

The Mrlssi's eyes scanned over the image and then flicked up. She flexed her beak, indecisive.

"Please," Obi-Wan said, desperation and exhaustion pulling at his tone. "If he dies and you didn't do all you could, you'll never forgive yourself. Believe me. The _more_ s you might have done will haunt you."

She handed the datapad back, and the crest of feathers on her head drew tight and narrow.

"Conlink, Jedi," she said, in an impatient, grating squawk and gestured with her claws.

He handed it over, and she set it on a small tray on her desk that glowed briefly at the contact.

"Contact u'loaded," she said, and held the comlink out to him. When he tried to take it, she did not let go. "Quick and quiet, Jedi," she said.

"Quick and quiet," he repeated, bowing his head.

They squeezed back through the university's halls to the elevator, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes while the three of them crammed into the small space, making it hotter. The air heavier.

"Are you all right?" Vaundri asked.

He took a slow breath, unsure where the sudden claustrophobia was coming from.

"Not sure," he managed, voice thin.

His vision swam, and he pressed a hand against the glass of the elevator car.

"Master." Anakin stared up at him, dark eyes wide with concern.

Obi-Wan concentrated on it. On him. This charge. The Chosen One. His responsibility. His duty. His promise.

Anakin frowned and took his hand. Something strange and cool passed between them, a rush of power like the brush of Force from living things Aylee had shown him. The sick, cloying heat peeled away from his chest, and he stared at Anakin in dumb wonder.

"What did you just do?"

Anakin lifted one shoulder. "I watched Master Desai in the medical bay. She— It's—" He shook his head, scowling, and the elevator came to a stop, its door swishing open. "Is it better?"

Obi-Wan could breathe again. "Yes . . ." he said, weightless with shock.

Anakin dropped his hand, grinning, and scooted out into the hall. Obi-Wan swallowed and followed him, his shoulders aching from the constant hunching. Dusk light shone tantalizing through the entryway door, and Obi-Wan's heart lurched for it. His steps quickened.

 _Outside._

A primal clawing to escape confinement.

He slithered through the door and stretched into the open darkening air, filling his lungs. Anakin's trick had washed the imminent sickness away, but unease coated his bones. Fatigue ran heavy hands around his thighs.

"Where to?" Vaundri asked, pulling his attention to the center.

He pulled his imagecaster out and loaded Keersl's information as they walked for the speeder pad. No time to waste.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan handed him the device, with the map projection loaded and rotating to cardinal orientation.

"Looks like he lives just outside the city center," Anakin said, pinching the map.

Dark fell as they drove.

Light strips along the sides of the road brightened to a buttery yellow, and the shelf-like buildings hanging off the greenstalks proved to be more than simple white plastoid. The glowed in a variety of shades, from light purples to seafoam greens. Qillo turned flourescent at night, psychadelic, even. And the wildlife crawled noisily from wherever it had been hiding. The air cooled, and Obi-Wan could feel the water condensing on his hair and clothes.

They pulled into a cul-de-sac and came to a stop at the base of a middling greenstalk with several floors of identical torusoid structures, each glowing a slightly different shade. Apartment buildings.

"Third floor," Anakin said, and click off the map.

Vaundri pulled her bike up behind the speeder and dismounted, turning in a slow, attentive circle as she surveyed the little neighborhood. Obi-Wan led the way, conscious of her falling in last. Rather than stairs, the apartments were connected by ramps that, of course, went around the stalk. The first entrance at 3 o'clock, the second at 12, the third at 9. The windows were shuttered, but a quick look around at the rest of the neighborhood proved that to be the default.

Obi-Wan steeled himself and pressed the panel beside the door. He didn't hear anything from inside, and when he pressed it again, he let his senses reach into the Force, like he had done at Jerrion Tarq's house. The greenstalk screamed large and luminous, and he jerked from the enormity of it, smashing against him. He drew his senses back, into the cavity of the apartment, and felt a flow of Living Force, small but strong.

"Someone's in there," he said quietly. He hit the door panel again. "Keersl!"And tried shouting.

"Subtle," Vaundri said, checking her hip against the railing.

Obi-Wan moved to the closest window. "Keersl Wagawna! Please don't make me break your door!"

He waved at Anakin to try the panel again, and this time they were answered with a series of whistles and squawks. The door shucked open to reveal a Mrlssi with tanned hide robe and impressively broad display of crown feathers.

Obi-Wan couldn't hold back a smile. "Keersl I presu—"

" _I_ was _dreeeeaaaa'ning!_ " The bird-man stomped at the ground with a taloned foot.

Obi-Wan rolled his smile away. "I'm sorry. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I'm here because you are in danger."

"Danger! 'hat danger! Strangers at night!" Keersl shoved an accusatory black claw at Obi-Wan's chest.

"Your coworkers. From the expedition. They're all dead."

Keersl's beak, opening for another ear-piercing squawk, froze, and his eyes narrowed. "'ho?"

"Eilis, just today. Geetha, several days ago."

"Geetha," he echoed, his crown feathers drawing tight. "No. No, no!" His voice took on a cawing keen.

"Yes. And you are the last. Please, come with me. Let me protect you."

"Dead. _Dead!_ Dead . . ." The Mrlssi turned in place plucking at the feathers on his arms.

"Keersl." Obi-Wan reached for him. "Plea—"

Anakin's lightsaber split the air, followed by the crack of blaster fire and the sizzle of a deflection.

Keersl screamed.

Obi-Wan spun, saber suddenly in hand.

Vaundri threw a force field up from her bracer and leveled her blaster out at the darkness. "I don't see them!"

"Time to go!" Obi-Wan shouted. He snagged Keersl around the waist and lifted him, flailing limbs and feathers.

"Master! Incoming droids!"

They were invisible in the dark, but he could hear their propulsion systems and feel their mass as his senses flooded outward on instinct.

"Where!" Vaundri called. "I don't—"

"Anakin!" An order in a word.

Obi-Wan turned and ran down the spiraling ramp. He heard metal crash and crunch and the sound of footsteps thundering after him. Shadows passed in the air, blotting some of the glowing structures, and he whipped his lightsaber through them without a thought, leaving red hot metal in a steaming pile.

They rounded the greenstalk at the base to a hail of blaster fire. Keersl screeched, writhing in Obi-Wan's grip.

"Stop!" he shouted, shaking the little man, and batted two blasts away with a flip of his wrist.

Anakin soared by, throwing his hand in the air and wrenching with a pulling motion. Sparks exploded from two droids hovering over the center of the cul-de-sac, and Anakin wove his saber in a defensive arc, forming a shield of colored light while he waited for the next volley.

Obi-Wan hefted Keersl and broke for the speeder, Vaundri close at his heels, her gun just over the lip of her shield.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan called. The boy turned as Obi-Wan vaulted onto the back of the speeder and dropped his charge in the rear seat. "You drive!"

Anakin froze. "What?"

Another blaster shot, deflected with a thoughtless swipe of the blade.

Obi-Wan stood in the back seat, weapon high, blood pumping. "You! Drive!" he said again, and this time Anakin moved, face alight with excitement and surprise. Blasters singed the ground where the boy's feet had been as he ran.

Vaundri returned fire, then looked up sharply. "Obi-Wan!"

More droids dropping from the sky. Who the fuck were these people?

He couldn't leave Keersl's side and readied to send blaster shots back at them.

"More!" Vaundri started shooting at the ground.

He saw them then. Black balls moving on spider legs. They hunched. Ejected something.

 _Blink. Blink._

Grenades.

Obi-Wan twisted and threw up a hand, rolling a Force push across the ground. The grenades bounced against the invisible wall, scattering backwards. _Blinkblinkblinkblink._

The air sucked and concussed. Heat flashed across his face, momentarily blinding in the darkness.

Obi-Wan's senses pinched. His lightsaber flicked, and a deflected shot meant for his head went wide. Beneath him, the speeder lurched to motion.

"Go, go, go!"

Still couldn't see the shooter. Shooter _s_ , maybe. Obi-Wan planted his feet and pressed himself down with Force, to keep rooted. Vaundri dropped her shield, swung a leg over her bike, and wrecked one of the aerial droids with a well-aimed shot. It hit the ground with a crunch and puff of smoke.

There was only one way out.

Obi-Wan turned as Anakin rounded the speeder for the mouth of the street. He pressed Force to his eyes for better vision and just around the edge of the corner saw a human-shaped figure drop back.

"Vaundri!" He shouted and pointed in the direction of their attacker. Then, "Anakin, go right."

The boy slammed on the accelerator and whipped them out onto the main drag. Momentum tossed Keersl, and he clung wildly to Obi-Wan's legs, keening and digging in with claws. Obi-Wan winced at the pain and turned to face rear, bending as he adjusted to the pressure of the wind against his back.

"Now what!" Anakin called.

Lights ignited behind Vaundri, washing her into shadow. Big lights, high off the road. Big vehicle. And for a moment, there was nothing but the roar of engines and air.

Then, a new sound. And a plume of smoke. A tail of spitting fire.

A rocket.

"Vaundri!"

Obi-Wan swept his hand, and she swerved her bike, cursing. The rocket roared past her, and Obi-Wan hit it with a piledrive of Force into the roadway. Stone and plastoid exploded. Vaundri's bike pulled in a sharp, gut-dropped turn as she rode up onto swampy lawns and lost speed.

The pursuer barreled through the debris and fire, gaining ground. It wasn't quite a ground hauler, too big to be a speeder. Black and boxy, only visible by the hole it cut in its surroundings.

"Anakin . . . time to speed it up!"

"But—!"

He'd been obeying traffic laws so far. Shockingly. "You're a podracer!" Obi-Wan shouted. "Pod race!"

The speeder lurched again, and adrenaline pumped through Obi-Wan's veins. The colored glows of the buildings on either side blurred, and he felt the shapes of the greenstalks around them looming. Like rock formations. Like canyon walls.

Keersl let out a throat-burning shriek as the vehicle dipped around turns, burned the wrong way around circles. He could tell by the feel and the pitch of the ship when, Anakin settled in and started to slalom through Qillo's streets.

Traffic exploded into a cacophany of horns and screeches. Metal impacted and ripped as vehicles stopped, slammed, scattered. The assassin's speeder plowed through bystanders with an armored forward hull. They gained ground by brute force over Anakin's swift finesse.

Destruction billowed in their wake.

Sirens.

Obi-Wan squared his shoulders, his tunic flapping around his wrists. His weight shifted effortlessly with the swerves of the speeder.

"Master!" Anakin cried.

"What!" He didn't take his eyes from the enemy.

"Look!"

A sneer touched Obi-Wan's lips but he turned and looked. The roundabout of roundabouts rushed toward them, with a small forest of young greenstalks in its center—and a glut of traffic moving slowly through its arteries.

 _Shit._

"What do I do?" Anakin shouted.

Obi-Wan stared, heart pounding. "Your best," he said, not even sure if Anakin could hear him, and whipped back around.

The front of the assassin's vehicle split open, and a cannon lifted from the hull.

"You have got to be kidding me," he said, voice lost to the wind.

Anakin wrenched them into traffic. And the attackers opened fire. Anakin ducked, and the shot went wide.

Only . . . it didn't.

The blast plowed through the street surface and several Mrlssi speeders, sending them spinning. Crashing into one another. Into Anakin's path.

Anakin let out a howl as he dodged into the oncoming lane.

Another thunderous blast at more innocents.

Speeders collided. Piled up. Traffic around the circle went mad as drivers tried to escape from the danger, from the chaos. Some bailed from their vehicles and ran on foot.

Anakin slammed the breaks, hard left. Full throttle, hard right.

Obi-Wan lost his rooting and tumbled down, while the assassins fired. Fired. _Fired._

So many lives.

A ground hauler blared its horn as Anakin brought them wheeling around, only half under control.

The air split with a cannon shot, and the hauler spun. Anakin cursed.

Metal screamed with impact, and that was the last clear thing Obi-Wan remembered.

Their speeder spun out, faster than he could follow. Dizzying force, ripping him from the seat. Off the road, into the greenstalks. They plowed and tore through several. Flipped at least once. Crunched to a bone-shattering stop crowned by the ripping sound of breaking wood.

Darkness.

His name. Smeared. Distant.

Obi-Wan jerked into blossoming pain. He shut it out and focused on the sound of his name and someone shaking his shoulder. Vaundri.

Had he blacked out?

He stared at her face and moving mouth, half-lit by fire.

 _Fire._

Heat, licking panic through his limbs. He jerked again, and a sharp bolt of pain in his arm knocked the breath out of him.

"Obi-Wan!" Vaundri said again at his half-delirious struggling.

He wheezed. "Keersl."

VAundri glanced away from the wreckage and back, biting her lip. His stomach dropped. She shook her head a little. He had no words for the cold hollowing of failure and counted it among the many pulsing pains.

He stretched to lift his head. Look around behind her.

"The assassins—"

She turned in her crouch. "Running."

"Can you catch them?" Obi-Wan pawed at her with his free hand.

She scowled. "Yes. I threw a tracked on their hull as they went by me. But, you—"

"Go!"

"But you're—"

"Don't let them get away!" His throat burned, body shook.

She swallowed and nodded. She stood and backed up a step, staring at him with dark, worried eyes, before turning and mounting her bike. She sped off through the wreckage in the streets, and he had to hope she was right. Finding the killer was the only thing left.

Obi-Wan dropped his head back and found it landed on the edge of a cushion. A crawling hot seep of liquid sought his ear.

Blood.

Around him a cloud of smoke as the speeder's propulsion system caught the greenstalk on fire. He swallowed, steeling himself, and peered to his right. A stalk lay fallen across the broken body of the speeder. His arm disappeared under it.

He felt with his free hand down his shoulder to his bicep. His fingertips touched the smooth, hard surface of a thorn, traced to where it pierced his flesh. Barely breathing, he slid his fingers around to the other side. It went clean through. By the diameter it must, but he had to know. And he found what he was looking for amid bloodsoaked layers of fabric.

The stalk was a small one. Three feet in a diameter. Big enough to crush a vehicle.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan lifted his head, pulling at the impalement. The pressure tore a silent scream him, but he craned to see a blond head somewhere. Anywhere.

No one answered.

He dropped back with a grunt and tried to breathe. Remember his training.

Smoke stung his eyes, so he closed them. Move the stalk, that was all. He didn't need his hand for that. Didn't need anything but concentration and will.

Sirens swarmed from many directions. And the Mrlssi gathered, singing and whistling at each other. So loud. His strength flagged a moment.

He gathered again and found the edges of the greenstalk with the Force. He centered his balance, his will, and pressed up at it, heedless of size of weight. He recalled the feeling during his connection with Aylee that he could lift buildings, mountains.

The stalk moved. A slow controlled ascent, drawing its thorn one painful centimeter at a time out of his arm. He shifted it over, scanning for any sense of life before letting it drop. He bit his lip hard trying to keep his mind centered on the here and now.

He gathered his injured arm to his chest and checked at the speeder wreckage wrapped around his lower body. Nothing felt pierced or broken. He moved his legs, testing, and then applied another Force push to peel the curls of battered metal away. It was enough to slither out and dump himself on the ground.

Free, he saw Anakin flat on his back and clear of the wreck. Obi-Wan stumbled to his feet, as his heart beat in his throat. His knees wobbled, and he lurched on the soft swampy ground, feel to his knees at Anakin's side.

"Anakin." He shook the boy, checked his pulse. "Anakin!"

Obi-Wan's eyes burned, and he checked the growing fires around them. They coudln't stay here. He hauled on Anakin's limp limbs arranging him over his shoulder, and then struggled to his feet. He pulled on the Force and felt the energy thread into his muscles.

He turned slowly, heaving. Shuddering.

Stopped as his gaze fell on Keersl.

Obi-Wan staggered to the lump of a body, meters from the speeder wreck. He lay utterly still. Inert to Obi-Wan Force sense. A small black tongue hung from his beak. And the sense of wrongness from looking at him only became clear when one realize his neck was twisted the wrong way.

Bile splashed at the back of Obi-Wan's throat.

He swallowed it down and moved away, forging through a web of black fingers that hauled on his legs on his shoulders. Failure. Failure. Failure.

He lifted a hand toward the wreck and concentrated on the signature of his lightsaber, buried somewhere. It rattled, clattering as it came free and slapped into his hand. He hooked it to his belt and steadied Anakin's weight on his shoulder.

Smoke thickened the air into a cloud of choking colors. Red from the fire. Blue and green from the buildings. White and yellows from the headlights and road strips. Obi-Wan's right thigh burned when he leaned weight onto it. He could feel a bruise forming and limped out of the marshy center of the roundabout toward a cluster of flashing red lights. Every step, every second, his body became aware of new pains. He grimaced, weaving around speeder shrapnel. Mrlssi in white uniforms poured out of the darkness among the heaps, cracking open vehicles and hauling out the terrified, the injured, the dead.

One wore a white circlet with a reflective band along its crown feathers, and Obi-Wan hurried toward it, wincing with each step.

"Help," he said, panting and unsteady.

The creature jerked around and looked at him.

"Medic?" he asked, and tipped his head against Anakin's side. "For the boy."

It ducked its head and touched an earbud, whistling something Obi-Wan couldn't understand. He stood, the burn in his leg growing worse, his breathing more labored. The aches spread to his arms, his ribs, his back. His vision blurred, and he stood up straighter, blinking. No time for that.

"Doctor!" the Mrlssi squawked, pointing a talon, and Obi-Wan lifted his head to see a crew of darkly clad bird-folk trotting alongside a human-sized gurney.

Obi-Wan bent to let gravity help him set his burden down. He cupped Anakin's head in one hand, and set it down gently last.

"Please," he said to one of the medics, "please, help him. I don't know what's wrong. I-I have to go. When he wakes up, tell him I'm coming back." The creature watched him with wide eyes. "Please you'll tell him?"

It nodded, and he squeezed Anakin's limp hand once before straightening. The pain pulled his features into a rictus, and the medic trilled.

"Need medic," it said, staring at him while the rest of the team starting taking Anakin's vitals.

Obi-Wan shook his head—"I'm fine"—and had to shift his weight as the throb in his leg moved to his knee.

"Not"—the Mrlssi tapped at his leg and pointed to his bloodied arm and the general direction of his face—"okay. You need a doctor."

He swabbed at his face with his sleeve, smearing it with blood. Even that felt like sand in his joints, like he was moving underwater.

"Maybe," he said, gasping, "something for the pain."

The medic narrowed its eyes.

"I can't stop yet," he said, then gestured at the carnage around them. "I have to catch the people who did this."

The medic nodded once and pulled a hypospray off its belt. It took Obi-Wan gently by the wrist and administered the injection.

"Thank you," he said, rubbing at the spot. "Take care of him." He nodded at the gurney.

"Called what?" the medic asked.

"Anakin Skywalker," Obi-Wan said, and took a step back, his gaze lingering on Anakin's form, swarmed by gray feathers and black talons.

He turned away and sought the white uniform with the circlet. The Mrlssi hadn't gone far, instead calling and singing at the small army in similar dress. Obi-Wan limped over and waved the creature down.

"Who's in charge here?" he asked, short of breath, holding his injured arm. "I need to speak to whoever's in charge."

The creature's crown feathers narrowed. "Who are you?" it asked.

He took a breath. "Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Please."

It touched the earbud and sang something that ended with an approximation of his name. More words he couldn't understand. Around him the air filled with a strange blend of song and scream, the grating chorus of his failure.

"Security Regulus a'roaching," the creature said, lifting a claw.

Obi-Wan shuffled around favoring his leg, even as he felt the pain killer working, dulling the edge.

The Mrlssi that approached came flanked with three others. It wore a white uniform, security standard, it seemed, adorned with something metallic and shiny. Gold-looking, but the strange light made it hard to tell.

"Jedi?" it said. "Regulus Turk, Qillo Security Guard."

Obi-Wan let his injured arm fall to his side, and he bowed slightly, breathing heavily. "Regulus. My associate has a tracking beacon on the vehicle responsible for all this. She's chasing them now. But I'm afraid she won't be enough. I was thinking that if I give you the tracking frequency . . ."

"I can send our guards." Turk nodded sharply. "Give us the tracker."

Obi-Wan nodded and pulled his comlink from his belt. He signaled for Vaundri. She took several seconds to reply.

"I'm kind of busy!" she shouted. Something exploded, and Obi-Wan heard the whine of a speeder bike in a sharp turn.

"I need the frequency of your beacon!"

Vaundri hissed and gasped. "In a . . . second!"

Obi-Wan waited, watching the lights on the comlink. Vaundri cut the audio channel, but the data light flickered. He held up his com toward Turk, who produced a small datapad. Proximity transfers were universal, the protocols regulated by a Republic central body. Turk nodded and touched on the datapad.

"Tracker active. Qillo Security en route."

Engines thrummed above them, and Obi-Wan looked up as medical transports lowered onto open patches of road. More speeders and ships slid through the air on the levels above them, perhaps not unheeding of the wreckage, but unencumbered. More vehicles with flashing lights headed in their direction.

"Regulus," Obi-Wan said, peering up at the oncoming ships. "Can you get me in the air?"

A Qillo Security scout ship whuffled down out of the dark sky. Obi-Wan hurried over to it, the pains in his body fading to memories. The waiting ship threw open its side doors for him, but he slowed to a halt as the scale of the Mrlssi ship became clear. The top of the scout ship was barely above eye level. The whole interior too small, even if he sat with his legs folded.

The officers inside stared at him, yellow and red blinking lights illuminating his face. He stared back and studied the shape of the ship. It had landing skids. And a bar along the top of the side door, where the officers could hook repelling lines or safety harnesses.

He could, theoretically, ride outside.

Obi-Wan sighed, stepped on the skid with his uninjured leg, and gripped the bar with his left Mrlssi officers whistled at one another, then tapped him on the stomach and handed up a small box containing silicon dot headphones like those he used for running, and a second, larger patch meant for the throat. Obi-Wan pressed them in place and heard the audio click on.

"Are you sure about that?"

Obi-Wan crouched and peered into the ship to find the pilot twisted in its seat, gesturing at him.

"I won't fit any other way," he said. "I'll be fine. Take us up."

The pilot lifted an eyebrow ridge and settled back.

"Target acquired," came over the headphones, and Obi-Wan squeezed a little hard on the bar as the ship lifted from the ground.

They went up, swift and steep; the hot air felt almost cool as it whipped through Obi-Wan's sweat-soaked hair and sent his tunic flapping. The city below shrank to black expanse peppered with glowing bulbs of blue. A wave of that dizzy, sick feeling hit him, and he shut his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to feel the bar of metal under his hand. The wind swept chill through his damp clothes as they climbed, climbed. Above the greenstalk tops, until Qillo was just pinpricks below.

He swallowed.

 _Emotion, yet peace._

 _Chaos, yet harmony._

He did not think of Keersl's broken neck. Or Anakin's face streaked with blood. He had a target. A destination. An enemy. A duty.

"Approaching beacon." The pilot's low, hard voice mimicking mammal speech snapped his eyes open.

Below he saw the pieces arranging themselves in brilliant display. The streaking lone light of a speeder between the yellow glow of the street edges. Vaundri. The dual lights of the vehicle it pursued. The flock of red flashes spreading through the city coming the other way to intercept, like a lava flow overtaking the landscape. All other traffic had been halted or diverted, even the upper levels to give a clear view of the chase on the ground.

Where were they going?

Obi-Wan watched the assassins hit a roundabout and turn.

"What's out that way?" he asked as the ship banked in pursuit.

"Housing and holocron manufacture," the pilot replied, his voice washed by the roar of the wind.

That didn't sound right. Didn't sound like an escape route.

Obi-Wan let his eyes fall shut and his attention turn inward. He focused on the sensation of the air across his skin to bring his mind to the present moment, free of worry, free of expectation. A leaf on a still pond.

Turning . . .

Turning.

Moved by a universe of coincidence—forces on a level too subtle to apprehend.

He turned away from the vector of pursuit, shifting the flow of air against the shape of his body into a new configuration, a new sensation of pressures that felt like a harmony. He opened his senses to the Force, fingers spreading with a gesture so long ingrained he couldn't have separated one effort from the other if he'd tried.

Something in the night sky moved.

Obi-Wan felt its mass. Its motion.

"Pilot!" he said, opening his eyes to scan the darkness. "On your five, what's on the sensors?"

"Sensors indicate a ship."

"One of yours?"

The pilot's returned in a shockingly low growl. "No."

Obi-Wan's pulse quickened. "Move to intercept."

The Mrlssi inside the scout ship whistled at each other over the com, and then the pilot switched to Basic. "You want to break pursuit?"

"Yes." Emphatically, yes. "There's no escape route on the ground. They need a ship. I think they've summoned a ride."

The pilot let out a low whistle that made sense to even human ears. "Understood, Jedi. How close should I get?"

Obi-Wan took a breath and exhaled slowly, scanning his body. He assessed for pain, for strength. "Fifty meters should do."

"Acknowledged."

The scout ship swung in a hard turn. Obi-Wan's boots slipped on the skids from the force of it, and he had to press himself down to gain traction. He gripped the bar so hard his fingers felt numb, but they came around fast and sped toward the shape looming in his senses. It didn't quite materialize out of the black sky, but the ecloser they got the better his Force senses could make out something intelligible.

HE could feel the shape of the wings and the curve of the hull. He found the front of the cockpit and the bulk of the engines. The scout ship pilot poured on more speed.

"Cut it off?" Obi-Wan heard in his ear.

"No! Bring us alongside!"

The scout ship banked again, adjusting course, and Obi-Wan threaded Force into his vision. They were close enough now that the reflected glow from the city below could give him an outline. His muscles tensed.

"Seventy meters," the pilot reported.

They matched speed. Drew closer.

"Sixty . . ."

Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber from his belt and held it pommel up. Below him the solid masses of the greenstalks whipped by. Below them: cityscape seeming to crawl. It was a long drop to the bottom.

He kept his eyes trained on the assassin's ship and crouched, thankful for the painkillers that let him move free.

"Fifty meters."

Patience . . .

Wait for it . . .

A proper executed Force jump was a combination of enhanced muscle strength and a Force push against something solid at the precise opposite vector of the desired trajectory. Disharmony between these forces could result in throwing oneself wildly, without good form required for a proper landing, or, just as problematic, too little power to reach one's destination. Harmony is a product of practice.

Training becomes instinct becomes grace.

Obi-Wan bundled Force into muscles and focused intent on the skids below his feet. He took a breath, wind beating at him. Exhaled.

And he leapt.

A high perfect arc across the emptiness of sky. He had aimed himself for where the ship would be, and it hurtled up to meet him. The bite of the air tore tears from his eyes as he squinted down.

Boots hit the hull. Slipped. His chin cracked against the metal, and reflex had him slamming his hands down, scrabbling for purchase. One clutched a saber hilt. His slid along the slick, metal hull, the force of the wind blowing him back. With a thought, he flicked the saber on, and the blade shot through several layers of thick, _resistant_ mass.

His slide off the ship slowed enough that he could find grip with his toes and power through with Force to standing. He rooted himself to hull like he had to the speeder and pulled his lightsaber free. The slice through the surface cooled quickly from its gleaming red, and Obi-Wan leaned into the force of the wind with an arm up to shield his eyes, staggering forward toward the cockpit.

He judged his location mostly by guess. Flipped the saber downward, and plunged it through the hull. He knew by feel when the cut was through and turned in a circle, carving himself an entryway. The hull plate dropped through, carrying him with it, and he landed inside the ship with a sudden clang and an eerie lack of roaring motion.

Obi-Wan spun in a quick, defensive gesture, saber high, only to realize that the ship was empty. It was also proportioned for human-sized inhabitants. He clicked his saber off, and without its familiar hum, the ship held the silence of a tomb. He checked the console, and the heads-up display confirmed an autopilot seeking a beacon. They were right on top of it.

"I'm inside," he said, hoping the headphones had long enough range. "The ship's on autopilot. Tell everyone to let it land. I want this to play out."

A second later, the scout ship pilot replied. "Orders confirmed, Jedi."

Obi-Wan leaned a hand on the back of the empty seat in front of him and watched as the cityscape started growing larger in the viewport. The ship pitched.

"Break of pursuit, scout. Let's let them think they've won."

"Acknowledged. Breaking off pursuit. Good luck, Jedi."

Obi-Wan nodded, even though they couldn't see and peeled the mic from his throat. He touched the earbud and waited for the sensation of release before flicking that to the floor. He didn't the distraction of Mrlssi speech in his ear.

It was a simple ship. He paced to the aft where exposed hydraulics stood ready to lower the entryway and dabbed at the wound on his head with the cuff of his tunic. It came away dark with blood, and he grimaced. more drops slid along his scalp and down the side of his face, trickling behind his ear. His right shirt sleeve clung to his skin from bicep to wrist, and the blood soaked through to the outer layer of his tunic at the puncture point and the crease of his elbow. He switched his saber to his left hand and wiped the blood on his right off on his pants.

He could fight off-sides, even if he couldn't duel that way.

The ship pitched again, and it's speed changed. Slowed.

Obi-Wan took his com from his belt.

"Vaundri. I'm coming in."

"You might—" Blaster fire. "Be too late. He's called his ship. I can see it landing!" She shouted, and something impacted close with an electrical scream.

"I know." Obi-Wan took a wider stance and energized his lightsaber. "But he won't get away."

"You sound"—she huffed—"very confident."

Obi-Wan could hear sirens on the com behind her and the sound of the engines of the ship. He smiled to himself. "Just be ready."

He slipped the com back in its place and sought the calm center that let him focus during a fight.

 _Emotion, yet peace._

The ship's landing gear engaged.

 _Ignorance, yet knowledge._

The hydraulics hissed, cracking open the bay door with a rush of hot air and the splitting crackle of blaster fire.

 _Passion, yet serenity._

Obi-Wan stepped out onto the ramp of the door as it touched the ground, and saw Vaundri ducked behind her shield on the other side of her bike, shooting at the black ground hauler between them.

 _Chaos, yet harmony._

A figure hiding behind the hauler turned for the ship. A lone actor, face hidden behind a veil, but by the shape and the lekku bound in a queue down their back, a female Twi-lek. She started to run for the ship and stopped when Obi-Wan stepped down the plank, lightsaber high and injured arm drawn back ready to release a blast of Force if necessary.

She hesitated and shot a quick look around. Vaundri. Qillo Security. A Jedi guarding her only escape. Obi-Wan took a few more strides forward as sirens filled the air empty of the sound of blasters.

He got to the bottom of the ramp, and he could see her yellow eyes just over the veil in the light shining from the interior of the ship. They widened, terrified, as she turned, turned, and saw no way out.

"We have you surrounded," he said. "And your ship isn't space worthy."

She pointed her blaster at him and backed up a step with jerky, shaky motions.

Obi-Wan met her eyes. "I wouldn't recommend that," he said evenly.

Her eyes pinched, and she put put the blaster suddenly to her temple.

 _Death, yet the Force._

"No, wait—!"

Obi-Wan lunged and reached for the blaster with the Force.

She pulled the trigger.

He felt his heart jump at the sound, too loud, too singularly final. Obi-Wan stood, hand still outstretched, panting as her body collapsed onto the street. He stared as a wave of hot horror rolled through him and made his gut clench. Slowly, he let his hand fall. In his periphery, Vaundri stood and lowered her shield. She started toward them at a trot as the Qillo Security Guard converged its forces into a twinkling ring around the vehicles and small white-clad officers drew warily closer on foot.

Obi-Wan clicked his lightsaber off and hung it back on his belt without taking his eyes from the dead assassin. Blaster shots self-cauterized. There was no blood. She just lay in a heap on her side, as gravity had dictated.

Failed. A second time on the same mission.

More lives wasted.

Vaundri moved to Obi-Wan's side, glancing between him and the Twi'lek corpse. She hesitated, maybe reading something on the expression on his face.

A Qillo Guard with a white circlet broke from the rest and stepped up to them. IT let out a low whistle and sang something to its subordinates. Medics in blue broke through the line of officers and approached without their customary hurry. Obi-Wan tore his gaze away to look at them.

"She quite dead," he said to the officer.

The Guard shrugged. "Protocol." And then went back to watching as the team of medics touched and prodded and measured.

"I don't understand," Vaundri said, watching them lift the oversize body onto a gurney. "Why kill herself? Mrlsst is in the Republic. There's no death penalty, no torture."

Obi-Wan lifted his shoulders slowly, a new ache building in them. "I don't know," he said, a hopeless whisper to his tone. "Honor? Duty?" He shook his head and met her eyes. "Some sense of insurance policy? Sometimes . . ." He shut his eyes. "Sometimes the punishment for failure isn't your alone to bear."

He sighed, the ache sinking to his bones, and approached as the medics started to move the body away. They stopped as he crouched and shined a light plucked from his belt across her face, illuminating red skin and the blackened char of her wound. There was no reason he should recognize the assassin, and he didn't. It seemed important, somehow, to see her face. "What a waste."

He stood and then he turned to the assassin's ship behind them, wobbling slightly before he got himself under control.

"You all right?" Vaundri said, brows drawn together as she watched. Her tight braid was messy and wind-blown, giving her a dark halo and a frazzled look.

"Far from it," he replied quietly, pressing his sleeve to his skull. "But we're not done here."

"See a medic."

"We're not done."

Her eyes narrowed to slits, following him as he started up the ramp back into the ship. "Are you always like this?"

"Pretty much," he said without looking back, dropping his arm like it was made of lead.

Her footsteps fell in behind him as he made his way back to the cockpit and sank heavily into the chair. Metal rattled as Vaundri stepped up onto the piece of hull he'd sliced out.

"You ruined the ship," she said, matter of fact.

Obi-Wan scanned over the controls and monitors, his vision blurring a little. "I did," he agreed, then turned to look at her. "See if you can find anything like personal effects."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Why?"

Exhaustion pulled at his eyes. "Because her identity might be useful."

Her expression turned doubtful, but she stepped from the hull piece platform toward the small ladder that led to the only section of the ship not visible from where they were.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think. He pulled up the communications log, but it was blank. No captain's logs. No maps stored in the nav computer. He sighed and tapped his fingers against the console, leaving small smears of blood with one hand. A chill rolled from the back of his neck down his limbs.

Vaundri's boots thunked down the ladder, and she hopped back onto the main deck. Obi-Wan turned the chair to the sound of her approach.

"Anything?" he said.

She held up a datapad, a piece of jewelry, a small blaster that would fit in a boot, and a credit chit. "You?"

He turned back with a sigh. "All the computer logs are empty."

"Even the hyperspace drive?"

He shot her a look, startled because he couldn't believe he'd forgotten it. The drive only works after the computer calculates a course. The drives store recent destinations for the sake of speed and ease of use. Obi-Wan hit a few keys, and the hyperdrive logs scrolled onto the heads-up display.

"Genius," he muttered, and heard Vaundri's smile.

He made a copy of the logs to his datapad and found the Regulus waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp. Obi-Wan bowed to him unsteadily.

"The ship is yours, Regulus. I'm afraid it's not spaceworthy with the hole in the top, but perhaps you can sell it for parts. Give the money to the families that woman destroyed."

Turk eyed the ship. "Nine dead, including Keersl. Plus the assassin. Can you tell me why, Jedi?"

Obi-Wan pressed his lips thin. "Something to do with a research expedition Keersl was part of. They uncovered something . . . valuable." He kept the word Sith carefully off his tongue.

"Valuable enough to kill for."

He nodded. "Valuable enough to kill for."

Regulus Turk's crown feathers pulled in tight and he said something to his subordinates that sounded more like caws than song. White-clad officers flowed around him and up into the ship. He looked back up at them. "Thank you for ending it."

Guilt tightened Obi-Wan's throat. "Please," he said, "don't thank us."

Turk bowed his head and turned in a slow circle to survey the scene. His small shoulders rose and fell. "It looks like I'm going to be busy all night." He rotated to look at them without moving his feet. "If you'll excuse me . . ." And then he turned away, pressing on his earbud.

Vaundri snorted. "I guess we're dismissed."

Obi-Wan made a sound of agreement and glanced at her. "We need to go find Anakin," he said, the words long in gestation between mind and tongue. "I left him with medics back at the crash site."

She gave him a nod. "There's only one medical facility in Qillo sized for aliens. Best chance is they brought him there." She started away, then stopped when he didn't immediately set off at a march to follow. A worried look crossed her face.

The staring kicked at his brain, and Obi-Wan lurched into motion, trying not to drag his feet. Vaundri's look lingered, but she didn't say anything, instead pacing him to the speeder bike and waiting patiently while he arranged his heavy limbs. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pitched forward until his cheek rested against the soft leather of her jacket. She twisted, the leather squelching.

"Don't fall off," she said quietly.

Obi-Wan squeezed his arms tighter to prove he had strength yet. "I won't fall off."

Vaundri grunted and kicked the bike into gear. Obi-Wan kept his eyes shut, concentrating on his hold. And if they went a little slower or took the turns a little easier, well, he wasn't going to complain.

Qillo General bustled with activity as Obi-Wan and Vaundri stepped through the doors to the emergency center. The building was indeed constructed for larger species, and Obi-Wan could stand at his full height without hunching or brushing his hair against the ceiling. Mrlssi patients milled around a waiting area, while medics in blue shifts darted about, singing and whistling in a headache-inducing chatter.

The pain meds had started to wear off, and Obi-Wan limped toward a desk that looked central to the whole squabbling affair. Those hadn't been sized for humans, so he found himself looking down at a bird-folk who flipped switches and tossed datapads into a series of trays and never seemed to stop talking. He waited for its attention to turn his way to no avail and then cleared his throat rather loudly.

The medic looked up.

"Hello," Obi-Wan said. "I'm looking for a boy, a human boy. Ana—"

"Name?"

He frowned. "I was going—" He cut himself off from an argument. "Anakin—"

" _Your_ name, Master Jedi."

Confusion knotted in his brain. "Obi-Wan Kenobi. Why?"

The medic called over its shoulder in the Mrlssi tongue, and two similarly clad attendants with green edging to their tunics trotted over. The desk nurse picked up a new datapad and glanced up.

"Human Trauma One," it said and pointed down the hall.

Cold shot down Obi-Wan's spine. "T-trauma. Is he all right?"

The attendants crowded him at either side and each tried to take a hand. Obi-Wan pulled away from them, his pulse ticking up as he backed away.

"What are you doing?"

The desk nurse narrowed its eyes and hopped up onto the counter to get eye level. "Treating a patient." It gestured at his head and arm. "You're bleeding."

"W— Yes, I know. But—"

"No buts!" The medic whistled to its cohorts, who took Obi-Wan's hands firmly in their claws. "I have the medical degree." It narrowed its yellow eyes at him. "Human Trauma One."

Obi-Wan turned to Vaundri as the Mrlssi tugged at him, but she shrugged. A "what can you do?" sort of shrug with a "don't expect me to help you" sort of smile.

"Find him!" he called to her, over the musical cacophony.

She tipped her head, and Obi-Wan relented to the manhandling of the medics. They pulled him, staggering, to a room somewhat separate from the rest of the hospital beds and plunked him in a chair set to a partial recline. The throbbing in his thigh and knee eased as soon as he took weight off it. He leaned back, drunk on weariness and the paltry comfort of a medical bay. His head swam, and he jerked up at the first sensation of drifting off.

Harsh, white light glared down, and Obi-Wan took the opportunity of solitude to get a good look at himself. His tunic was blackened with smoke, smeared with rust-red blood up one sleeve and soaked through in patches on the other. His head wound left drips splatter across his chest.

Little wonder the nurse had insisted.

He glanced at his arm, the pain steadily increasing to a biting throb. With effort, he made himself lean forward enough to unwind his belt, hissing and wincing as his torn muscle protested. He dropped the tabard to the floor, and sloughed off the left sleeve of his tunic. The right stuck. He had to hold the cuff and peel himself out of it, biting back a cry of pain.

"What are you doing!" a shrill Mrlssi voice squawked, and Obi-Wan stopped, panting.

The medic's clothes were solid blue. It stepped up to the side of the chair and hit a button somewhere below the seat. With a slight hum, the chair sank toward the ground, and Obi-Wan found himself sitting practically on the floor, at eye-level with the bird-folk.

"I didn't need you cutting it off," he drawled, tongue thick. A headache gathered behind his eyes, and he closed them against the bright light.

The medic chortled unhappily. "What occurred to your arm?"

It started unbuttoning his shirt, and he gave in, assisting when asked.

"Thorn. From a greenstalk."

The medic stuck a monitor on his forehead and whistled for one of the green-fringe assistants. Obi-Wan's clothes disappeared before he could protest. He tried sitting up, but the medic's cool talons pressed him back down.

"Blood loss," it said, sounding unhappy. "Rest here."

Obi-Wan tossed his arm across his eyes to keep the sharp light away, unwinding only when an additional medic eased it away and started cleaning the wound on his head. They bustled about, attaching IVs, administering hyposprays. They wound a bacta patch across he cleaned arm, sealing the wound and applied an infused glue to his scalp. He got the impression they were done when the chair hummed back up to its default height.

Time passed in which he saw neither Vaundri nor Anakin, but the weakness in his body ebbed. The light didn't cut quite so deeply. The medics left. The attendant stopped back and deposited his cleaned, folded clothes on a table.

The shadow of a human shape fell across the frosted glass of the door, and Obi-Wan roused as the change in light before he heard the knock.

"Obi-Wan?" Vaundri.

"I'm here," he said.

She opened the door and poked her head through. He felt her gaze land, and the awareness shot through him that he was half-naked. Exposed. Shame and vulnerability crept up his neck, and he sat up a little straighter, not even sure if she _was_ staring.

"I found him," she said, meeting his eyes. "Should I bring him in?"

He let out a pent breath. "Give me a minute." And then rang for a nurse. Anakin had seen him an invalid in a medical bay too much recently.

Against medical advice, the Mrlssi medics removed the IVs, and Obi-Wan slowly wrapped himself in his shirt and tunic and tabard and belt, presenting a proper Jedi.

"All right," he called toward the shapes beyond the door, settling back against the inclined chair.

Vaundri opened the door, but Anakin squeezed around her to get inside first. He had a red line along one cheek and a purple-green bruise one his forehead.

"Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan said, smiling a little.

The boy came to stop at his side, sweeping him up and down with wide eyes.

Obi-Wan leaned, trying to catch his gaze. "Are you all right?"

Anakin's head snapped his way. "I have a lot of bruises," he said, scowling. "And the doctors said they patched up some internal bleeding."

Obi-Wan's gaze flicked to Vaundri by the door, but she was a blank slate, watching them with her arms crossed.

"But are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked again.

Anakin shrugged and rubbed at the back of his neck. "It hurts. But . . . I'll be fine."

Obi-Wan let his eyes fall shut, and he sighed. The thread of tension pulling his guts tight loosened.

"Master, no one will tell me where Keersl is!"

Obi-Wan's heart thumped as he opened his eyes to Anakin's worried face.

"I looked _everywhere_!" His eyes were wide, earnest.

Vaundri slipped quietly from the room, and Obi-Wan coudln't decide if he should thank or curse her for it. His throat went dry, chest tight with stress. He gave his padawan a long, gentle look.

"Anakin"—quietly—"Keersl didn't survive the crash."

Anakin stared at him, light brows slowly drawing together. He took a step back as his breathing went shallow and jaw started to judder. Tears gathered in his eyes as he face reddened, but he fought it. Bunched his fists and turned away as his whole body shook with fight it. Obi-Wan saw him in profile, squeezing his eyes shut and mouthing the words of the Code.

Pain lanced through Obi-Wan's chest, his heart crumpling one whispered phrase at a time. His eyes stung.

"It's not your fault," he said.

Anakin shook his head, and tears clung to his eyelashes. He sniffed, and his knuckles turned white. "I was driving."

"It was an accident. Not even. It was an attack."

"He's still dead either way." His voice came out a rising squeak. Anakin's small body buckled, and he lunged for a trash can in the corner, vomiting up what little food he'd managed to eat on the ship. Obi-Wan winced and bit his lip, watching through blurry vision as Anakin straightened and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Sorry," he whispered. He sucked a breath like a sob. "Sorry, I'm sorry." He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, but the tears had started. "I'm sorry."

For the death? For the crying?

Obi-Wan's heart ripped. "Ani . . ."

He reached out a hand, and Anakin tumbled toward him, blubbering and apologizing because he _knew_ he should be stronger than this. Knew Jedi didn't cry. Obi-Wan pulled him to his chest at a loss for words. He pictured the girl in the Temple being scolded for laughing. Was it any better to scold for crying?

He would have done it once. _There is no emotion, there is peace._

A colder, more sure version of himself would have. One forever trapped behind walls.

He ran his fingers over Anakin's hair and let himself shush and soothe. Anakin snaked arms around his middle.

"We both failed today," Obi-Wan said, measured and gentle. "And I'm so sorry you got hurt."

Anakin lifted his face from the soft fabric of Obi-Wan's tunic. He sniffed and blinked his eyes clear. "I'll be fine," he said, and lifted his chin.

A sad smile touched Obi-Wan's mouth. "That's not the point. But I'm very glad to hear it."

The boy cracked a brief smile and stepped back out of the embrace. He straightened his tunic and tabard and leveled a somber look at Obi-Wan.

"Are we heading home now?" he asked.

Obi-Wan nodded at him and levered himself up out of the chair. The pains might be dulled, but his body ached with heaviness. "Yes, padawan, we are heading home."


	20. Homecoming

Six hours out from Mrlsst, Obi-Wan sat on the edge of his bunk on the _Stallion Wicked_ , holding the backing plastoid in his teeth as he peeled a fresh bacta patch open. He applied it inexpertly but managed to seal both sides of the wound. The whole process required dressing and undressing almost completely, but at least it gave him something to do—a small favor when every motion pulled on bruised flesh. If he stayed inactive long, his muscles stiffened and ached all the more when he had to get up.

The trauma of the crash was still revealing itself, deep in his tissues and in vibrant new colors across his skin. No one on the ship felt much like talking, so he ambled quietly, favoring his leg, across the cockpit to the kitchen and brewed another caf from the package left out on the counter. He dropped in a chunk of jaggery and swirled it around until it looked thick enough to drink.

He tossed back a bacta pill for the pain and washed it down with the sweetened caf, nursing the cup over several minutes until it was empty. He stared into the cup—empty, empty—before making another and adding to the pile of empty packets starting a colony in the corner of the counter. A small spiral of energy filtered into his blood, and he ambled back to the bunks to sit. To lay awake. To watch over Anakin's fitful sleeping and feel the pain like hammers on his bones ebb away, until they washed back in again.

He switched his bandage twice more and drank down Vaundri's dwindling beverage supply. If he closed his eyes, he saw Keersl in a heap, his neck twisted the wrong way. Felt the sharp panicked horror of the assassin's suicide. Her terrified eyes peered back at him from the darks of his eyelids. He took more bacta pills when he knee throbbed and sat in the seats between the engines, letting the vibration sink through to his body.

Somehow, the bruises hurt less that way, and his mind was free to ping through the actions of the day. The choices. He should have driven. It was too much to put on Anakin's shoulders, and now . . . and now . . .

Regret for both of them.

His mind ran in loops, relentless. Exhausting. With no chance of sleep. And it hurt to lie down for too long anyway. No _desire_ for sleep. He couldn't move through any katas, either. Which left trying to meditate, while the wheels of his mind spun without traction and his fingers itched and skin crawled.

More hot caf.

More pills of bacta.

Twenty-four hours to Coruscant couldn't end soon enough.

The _Stallion Wicked_ touched down in the Temple landing bay thirteen minutes early. Obi-Wan dragged himself to the ramp and plodded down, an unseen weight pressing him steadily to the floor. It took too long to realize that the robed figures on the platform were there for him. Waiting for him.

Aylee broke from Tir-Zen's side with swift, short strides. Obi-Wan stopped to brace his paper-thin self, but she slowed as she got closer. Looked at him with those dark, warm eyes. And slid easily into his space, her hands beneath his cloak, sliding up his back. Her head settled on his shoulder, and he folded into the embrace with an audible exhale.

The liquid glitter of her presence, cool and close, promised comfort, and he bent toward her like he could drink it through his skin. Ease the burn of bruising. Unknot the twisted pain behind his eyes. Dimly in his awareness, Anakin drifted by, sought Tir-Zen, and the two of them spoke in low tones not meant for their masters.

He didn't have the strength to squeeze harder, so Obi-Wan leaned, trusting her with his weight.

Too soon, Aylee pulled back and looked up at him.

"How's your arm?"

He frowned. "How—" He stopped, feeling slow. "Right . . . Not actively bleeding. I'll have to change the bandage soon."

She nodded and ran her fingers lightly over the spot where the puncture wound throbbed several layers of fabric below. Her expression held a more thoughtful than concerned turn. He stared at the lines between her eyes. The press of her lips. Felt his mind both spinning and blank. He had no idea what came next. They arrived. Something happened next.

Vaundri cleared her throat, and Aylee stepped aside, away from him, to see her.

"Sorry," he said to the both of them, scowling at the sound his own voice made in his head.

They graced him with patient looks, before Vaundri offered Aylee her attention and a hand.

"Gilly Vaundri Shalasu."

Aylee took her hand. "Consular Aylee Desai."

"The voice on the com." Vaundri glanced at Obi-Wan for confirmation, and he nodded. "Glad to see the authorities let you go."

Aylee's answering smile was tight and sad around the eyes. "Thanks." She tipped her head toward Obi-Wan. "Thank you for getting them home."

Vaundri gave Anakin a long look. Her eyes met Obi-Wan's briefly before she leaned toward Aylee and whispered something that was received with a bow of the head and a touch on the arm. They nodded at one another, and then Vaundri produced a datapad. She approached Obi-Wan holding it out.

"Confirmation of contract fulfillment," she said, and nodded toward the blinking box on the pad.

Obi-Wan lifted a leaden arm and pressed his thumb in the spot. The pad UI danced with an animation and then scrolled _Confirmed_ across the text of the contract. Vaundri smiled at it, at the considerable amount of credits that would be transferring into her accounts, and let her hand drift down to her side.

"It's been . . . interesting," she said, her lips sliding into a grin.

He nodded, trying to recall proper social graces. "Thank you. For everything."

She looked from Obi-Wan to Aylee and back. "If you ever need a gilly, you have my com."

He smiled as she started back toward the ramp. "What if I want some of your mother's cooking?"

Vaundri made a rude gesture over her shoulder, and the _Stallion Wicked_ 's ramp pulled up behind her.

Obi-Wan turned slowly, dredging deep for the energy. His gaze swept over the padawans, still in close consultation, and slammed to a halt on the Jedi striding across the bay toward them with an unhurried, determined gate. Master Windu. Obi-Wan's guts tightened, and he felt vitality draining away.

Aylee moved to his side, stretching tall and calm. She kept a proper distance and held her hands folded in front of her. They both bowed at Master Windu's arrival. Obi-Wan swallowed.

"Obi-Wan." Master Windu nodded at him. "I've already heard Master Desai's _distressing_ report from Svivren. The geologist is dead."

"Yes, master, I heard." He struggled to keep his voice full and even.

"And your mission took you to Mrlsst."

"Yes."

Master Windu arched an eyebrow.

"And?"

Obi-Wan took a slow breath. His ribs had turned to stone. "We arrived before the assassin had a chance to strike. But there was a fire fight. And . . . Keersl died before we could get him to safety," he said. Guilt pulsed in his throat.

Mace's expression hardened. "So. A _complete_ failure, then."

He couldn't look at him. At the disappointment. Obi-Wan licked his lower lip as he stared at the floor. "Not entirely," he said, too tired to be affronted, too empty for shame. "We found hyperdrive logs with a number of jumps to Takodana." His words formed and floated like smoke signals.

"And that's relevant how?" Cold and thin as a Troukree poised at the jugular.

"I believe," Obi-Wan said, pain flaring behind his eyes, "that the assassins were dispatched from there. The expedition is probably organizing there."

"Why?"

Obi-Wan's patience, stretched thin, snapped, and he jerked his gaze up. "Because Maz Kanata is the _Pirate Queen_." He barked the words, but the anger cost him, and his shoulders sagged. His knees shook. "And because we don't have any other leads," he said quietly.

Master Windu's eyes narrowed. "Get to Takodana immediately, then."

 _Immediately._

Obi-Wan's hands dragged toward the floor. Heavy, heavy.

"Yes, master." He lowered his eyes.

"In addition," Mace said in that imperious way which commanded attention, "these missions have cost Anakin a significant amount of class time."

Obi-Wan looked up at him, staring blankly.

"He's behind," Master Windu clarified. His tone made clear how unacceptable that situation truly was.

Obi-Wan blinked dumbly. "I'll . . . tutor him on the trip, master," he managed.

Mace inclined his head. "See that you do." Then he turned on his heel and marched back toward the Temple, leaving them staring in his wake.

He couldn't . . . breathe.

Obi-Wan stared at the ground, trembling. Unmoving. Struggling for each breath against a band of pain across his chest. He wavered in place feeling pieces fall, composure fall.

"Ben?"

He turned blindly toward the sound of her voice and leaned for her, reaching with weak fingers. She gathered him in, touching his hair, taking his weight as he folded around her. Solid and strong as his muscles quaked.

"I can't," he whispered into her shoulder.

Her grip lightened. "Can't what?" she asked, steady, gentle.

He shook his head, burrowing deeper. His breath came in with the ragged edges of a sob. "I can't, I can't." He fought the stinging at his eyes and curled his fingers into her sides. "I'm so tired," he breathed. His voice shook, and he squeezed his eyes closed. "I just want to go home."

She moved her fingers through his hair. "You are home."

He shook his head and lifted his face from her shoulder. The white block walls of the Temple loomed over them, illuminated against the night sky. He stared at it. At the doors leading from the landing pad.

His voice barely broke the silence. "It doesn't feel like it."

Aylee drew her hand down to his cheek. Brought the other up to match it, cupping his face with warm, soft palms. He could have cried. Fought crying, as she gazed at him searchingly.

"When was the last time you slept?"

One shoulder lifted. "I don't know."

She waited, so he tried again.

"On the way to Mrlsst, I guess."

"Ben, that was three days ago," she said, softly chiding.

His body shook with pain and fatigue except where she held him steady.

She drew her thumbs across his cheekbones. "Did you eat, at least?"

He nodded a little. "Rice," he said dumbly. "I-I brought you some." He broke from her grip to fumble through his satchel, producing the extra box he'd taken from Vaundri's kitchen. Aylee's concerned frown broke to a humoring smile as she took the box from him.

"Thank you."

He nodded, too much, unable to stop. Not sure why it seemed important, but it seemed important.

He couldn't think straight and wavered in place. He met Aylee's gaze, then glanced up at the Temple.

"I can't go in there," he said, voice small.

"Ben—"

"I _can't_."

She frowned and touched his face again to get his attention. "Come with me."

"I _can't_." His strength unspooled inside, fraying, snapping.

"To the _Vesper_ ," she said gently, lifting her chin toward someplace within the landing bay.

He stared at her, wanting the words to make her understand. "I'm so tired," he said again. Moving a leg too heavy, too hurting— Move a mountain, it was all the same.

Aylee took him by the wrist and looped his arm across her shoulders. She hugged them together at the waist and peered up at him.

"Just try, for me? Okay?"

He nodded, dumb, miserable. Lurched forward unsteadily and let Aylee guide them. Tir-Zen looked up from his conversation with Anakin and took careful measure. He urged Anakin to follow him, and they opened the ship. Aylee half-hauled Obi-Wan by his belt up the ramp and then stopped, panting, at the base of the ladder to the lounge.

He shook his head at her. "I can't."

"Yes, you can." She brushed his hair back and over one ear. A light touch, grazing his skin. "Just a little more, I promise."

The headache stabbed between his eyes, throbbing in time with the burning pain in his arm. Obi-Wan's face crumpled as he struggled against the despair pulling him to his knees, to the floor.

"Hey . . . hey . . ." Tender words, whispered. "It's okay."

"It's not." He croaked his reply over a straining throat. He would not add to his failures. Not today.

Aylee's expression softened, and she brushed the backs of her fingers through his beard, along his jaw.

"It's okay to cry sometimes," she said.

He shook his head, making the pounding worse.

"I promise you," she whispered, petting gently, "it really is."

He stared at her, each breath an effort, and let go just a little. Two tears slipped out. Exhaustion, he told himself. All exhaustion, even if it made breathing easier.

A sad smile touched Aylee's face, and she brushed at his hair again. "Up the ladder," she said. "You first."

He stared, helpless, so tired of pain. Bereft of will.

Aylee pressed her lips together, watching him. "Okay," she said. "Me first."

She swung herself up with ease and bent down, offering her hands.

Want of touch surged so strongly it rolled tears to his eyes again. He summoned Force to knock his balance forward from the wall. Sinews creaked as he stretched for her fingers. It was such a short way. Such a short way. She hauled him up, and it left him panting.

With a small, curling gesture, Aylee plucked two cushions from the edges of the lounge and set them down on the floor next to one another. She tentatively let him go to balance on his own and sat on one of the cushions, legs folded.

He shook his head, so sorry to disappoint—always a disappointment. "I can't meditate now . . ."

A soft smile. "We're not meditating." She gestured to the empty seat. "Sit."

Obi-Wan shuffled over like a much older man, turned, and sat, collapsing his bones with a graceless drop. He leaned back against her chest with a sigh.

"Oh." Humor shook her frame. "Okay. This works too."

He frowned and concentrated on breathing, unsure what was funny. Not caring. Her arms snaked under his own, through blankets of robes.

"Anakin did something to me," Obi-Wan offered. "Something he learned from you."

She felt around with her right hand and settled her palm on his lower belly. "What did he do?" she asked, in that distracted way people had when their real attention was elsewhere. She made small adjustments to the position of her hand.

"I don't know. It felt . . . cool. Energizing. He said he watched you do it in the medical bay."

"Ah." She brought her left hand to his chest and centered just above his heart. "The Force Healing I did. I didn't teach him. Not on purpose."

"It was good," he muttered, exhaling slowly. "It helped."

He heard her smile. "Good. Cause I'm going to do it a little now."

Obi-Wan couldn't have identified the moment between something and nothing. It should be easy delineate such things. But at some point, Aylee shifted something internal to her power, and some time beyond that he felt pattering on his skin, like gentle rain.

"What—"

"Shh. Relax . . ."

Somehow, there _was_ tension in his shoulders.

"There are nexus points of Force within us. I'm just . . . directing a little power there."

The tension, he realized, under the light and constant cooling of the rain, was everywhere. Wrapped around the bruises. Holding him stiff in the reflex to avoid further aches. He felt the Force soak in, wearing away the resistance. Filling the empty places that had run dry. The spinning, anxious energy in his brain slowed, and he could feel the gears catching again.

"That feels lovely," he drawled. " _You're_ lovely."

Aylee chuckled in his ear. "You sound drunk."

"I'm not drunk," he protested, his tongue clumsy.

She hummed, not arguing. The intensity of the sensation of rain never faltered from its lulling light touch.

Obi-Wan's breathing deepened, and behind closed eyelids, he felt himself slipping. Caf and bacta washed from his system by the gentle cleansing.

"You need to sleep," Aylee whispered to him.

He nodded slightly, body heavy. Let his cheek drop to her chest.

"All right . . ."

And he was suddenly, easily, lost to sleep.

Obi-Wan roused to the reddish darkness of the _Vesper_ at night. He sat up slowly, careful of his bruises, to find tenderness where there had once been aches. Drowsy languor ran thick through his blood as he glanced down at himself, stripped to his underclothes, a thin sheet pooled in his lap. Aylee lay sleeping on the bunk across the narrow walkway of the quarters, her hair orange in the light. He watched her breathing, a tug in his chest urging him to go. Close the gap and find his rest.

His eyes went to the bunks where the padawans slept, only to find them empty. Obi-Wan frowned a little and slid out of bed. He grabbed his cloak from a hook on the wall and wrapped it around himself before opening the door to the lounge and poking his head through. He squinted at the assault of brighter lights, as Tir-Zen and Anakin turned to the sound of the door. A table scattered with circuit boards and wiring lay between them.

"Don't mind me," Obi-Wan said, but Tir-Zen eased out of his chair anyway, pointing at something on a board as he moved.

Obi-Wan padded to the kitchenette, his gaze alighting briefly on the caf dispenser. He reached for a glass and some water. Tee tucked into his side as though summoned there, and Obi-Wan glanced at him.

"How is he?" he asked, muttering, and keeping his focus on the glass.

Tir-Zen let out a breath. "Very determined to get that droid working."

Obi-Wan twisted slowly to take a look. Anakin had a soldering gun in one hand and held several electrical parts up with a bit of Force. He frowned down as a bit of smoke curled up through the air. Obi-Wan turned back to the sink and refilled his glass. He held it to the lingering ache of fatigue between his eyes.

"He told you?" he asked quietly.

Tir-Zen nodded, and his mouth turned down at the corners. "I didn't know what to tell him." He shrugged—a helpless gesture. "I told him I lost the killer on Svivren and felt it as Eilis died."

Obi-Wan lowered the glass and looked at Tir-Zen's face, his strange, orange eyes. "I'm sorry."

Tee shrugged it off.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Obi-Wan asked him.

Another shrug, followed by a meaningful look in Anakin's direction.

"You're too good, Tir-Zen," Obi-Wan said, grinning.

He'd meant it lightly, in good spirits and camaraderie, but Tee's expression faltered. "So my master says often," he rasped, then lifted his shoulders. Mischief glinting in his eyes. "I like this ship. Didn't want to see it catch fire."

Obi-Wan's gaze flicked to Anakin. _He_ hadn't told anyone that story . . . "I like the way you think," he said to Tee, then set his glass down and wrapped his robes more tightly. "Where _are_ we?"

"In orbit over Coruscant."

Orbit?

He cut Tee a sharp look. "I thought we were supposed to go to Takodana."

"Immediately, even." Tee bowed his head in a nod. "But Master Desai had a differing opinion."

That, Obi-Wan thought, was a general and complete understatement. He couldn't help but smile. "I'll bet she did." He turned to watch Anakin for a second and then raised his voice. "You boys should get some rest," he said.

Anakin bit on his lower lip and soldered something else into place.

"Anakin."

"Yes, master."

"Soon, please."

"I'm almost done."

"You're keeping Tir-Zen awake."

Obi-Wan winked, and Tee smirked, faking a yawn.

Anakin let the wires and connectors float back to the table and looked up, yawning himself. Obi-Wan clapped Tee lightly on the shoulder and shuffled back to the sleeping quarters. He paused just inside the door and gazed down at Aylee. Imagined climbing in next to her. Curling around her heat in this cold capsule in space.

 _Wrong . . ._

 _Wrong . . ._

 _Wrong._

A sense of failure closed cold fingers around the back of his neck, and Obi-Wan turned away. He hung his cloak and climbed into bed and tried very hard not to dream.

"And Takodana is . . .?"

Aylee jiggled the co-pilot's seat back and forth and peered across the _Vesper_ 's cargo bay as Obi-Wan moved into the second kata, breathing hard and quick to match his motions. She'd been watching all morning.

"Takodana," he said, timing his words between bursts of effort, "is the home of Maz Kanata." He spun with a high kick and followed with several quick slashes through the air. His lightsaber hummed, filling the cavern of the ship. "The pirate"—he huffed—"queen." He glided to a halt, his left palm out and lightsaber drawn vertical near his face.

A bead of sweat dripped from his temple, and he cut the power to the sword. Picked up where he'd left off as he paced toward the cockpit, stretching the complaints from his limbs.

"It's a perfectly amoral sanctuary for anyone wanting to live outside the law."

Aylee bounced one knee and sipped from her cup of caf, hiding her smile. "In other words, the perfect place to hire a crew."

Obi-Wan leaned a hand against the back of the pilot's chair. "The perfect place."

Her gaze swept over him, more appreciative than analytic.

"What?" A small smile crept onto his face.

She shrugged, and he narrowed his eyes.

"You seem a lot better," she said, innocent enough.

"I am." He flexed. "Even given the hole through my arm."

"Bacta works wonders."

"You work wonders."

Aylee ducked her head and blushed beautifully, tapping her fingers against her cup, composing herself. "Try not to make it a habit," she said eventually.

He flashed a broad smile. "Can't make that promise."

Obi-Wan felt the ghost of her hand on his chest, a padded pressure with so much between them, the calculated press on his belly, holding him close, making them closer. That might be worth the wounds.

He cast the thought aside with a tickle of shame and cleared his throat.

"So. Takodana."

Aylee bobbed her head and leaned back in her chair. "Tir-Zen!"

They both peered up as Tee came to the top of the ladder to the lounge. "Yes, master?"

"Remember that secret identity we got for you?"

Tee slung himself down from the lounge with one hand on the rail. " _False_ identity," he said, eyes bright.

" _False_ identity," Aylee repeated, both placating and dismissive.

"I believe it's time to use it," Obi-Wan said.

"Now?" Tee rasped, looking between the both of them.

Aylee smiled. "Well. We need to go shopping first."

Tir-Zen's excitement evaporated, and his shoulders sagged.

"No, she's right," Obi-Wan offered. "You need to look the part. Can't do that with robes and lightsabers."

Aylee set her caf aside. "None of us can." She swiveled her chair toward the controls. "We could come in at the Promenade. Get what we need, and go."

Obi-Wan hummed, earning him a lifted eyebrow and patient questioning. He grinned. "I was thinking more . . . Antiro Bazaar?"

Aylee flashed a smile and set the coordinates.

"Why there?" Tee scooted around and dropped into the pilot's seat.

"Because," Obi-Wan said, "if you want to look like a smuggler, you can't shop the galaxy's haute couture. The details matter."

"If you haven't studied that identity yet, you'd better. You need to be Berzirk Ptolem. Talk like him, respond like him. Memorize the places he's supposed to have gone, but create stories about them." Aylee's voice took on the energy and cadence of passion. "It's the stories that make the man." She turned to Tir-Zen. "Do you understand?"

He briefly took his eyes from the viewport. "Create stories."

"No. Create a _person_ who _has_ stories." She pointed a finger at him. "If the stories ring true, so will you."

Tir-Zen turned back to the screen, frowning in thought, and Aylee look up to meet Obi-Wan's gaze. Worry crossed her expression, and he touched her shoulder.

 _What if he's not ready?_ she sent. _What if I haven't made him ready?_

Obi-Wan squeezed his fingers.

 _We'll be there. But I promise you, he can do this._

"Leave for Takodana Immediately" became "Leave for Takodana a Full Day Later." Force be with them that it wasn't a delay too long. They all found an assortment of clothes with a high proportion of leather, too many pockets, and a propensity for straps. Obi-Wan had loose-fitting navy pants tucked into tall black boots. A white shirt cut by a harness across his chest make a makeshift saber holster under one arm. A cargo vest—so many pockets—and a leather jacket to hide the holster.

None of the colors matched. Which was the point.

But it was all fitted. He felt oddly mobile without a cloak and at least three layers.

Aylee found herself a collection of brown things in different textures and a soft gray poncho that hung off one shoulder.

Anakin was supposed to stay on the ship. Which sounded, at first, like punishment. Except while everyone else was gathering information about the expedition on the ground, someone very clever and very sneaky would have to infiltrate their vessels. Possibly by squeezing up through the landing gear if necessary.

Delicate, difficult work, on which the entire operation hinged.

Anakin demanded a heavy-duty atmospheric filtration mask because it would hide most of his face and "made him sound galactic." Obi-wan counted it a small price to pay.

Tir-Zen's, of course, mattered the most. He selected a variety of leathers, from gundark to nerf to Halurian ice-boar. He got himself knee pads that matched the shocking orange of his eyes and thick-soled boots with metal toes. A black jacket with scaled hide of an amphibian, and a belt that slung into thigh holsters on each side. He put a vibroknife in one and a blaster in the other. Some new items, some old. It looked eclectic. It looked like a collection gathered over time.

Berzirk had a good fifteen years on Tir-Zen, but the tattoos on his face obscured the markers of age to the human eye.

Aylee paced around him in the merchant's pagoda. The rings in his ear still marked him a Jedi, if anyone knew what they were looking at. A jeweler could take care of that. Gild them and string some extra chains between them so the colored beads that marked him an apprentice of the Living Force and an Engineer were just flashy baubles.

Anakin arrived breathless in the shop and waved his find in Tee's face. "You totally need these," he huffed.

Tir-Zen slid red fingerless gloves onto his sandy-tan hands. It looked like blood.

"Bantha," Anakin panted, pointing. He held up his thumb.

Obi-Wan took a step back to drink it all in. Tee balled his hands into fists, stretching and warming the leather with a small squelch.

"I wouldn't recognize you," Obi-Wan told him.

Tir-Zen smiled and lifted his chin at him. "You look—" He paused, then conspicuously pressed his lips shut.

"What?"

Tee ducked his head and rasped, "Smaller."

Obi-Wan pressed a stern look onto his face, but it wouldn't stick. "I believe Master Yoda has a few sayings about that."

They pulled Tee to the jeweler to get the earrings disguised, and Obi-Wan pulled his com from his belt.

"Just one more thing to do now," he said, tipping the device Tee's way. "Time to get you a new ride."

"Tee, can you hear me?" Obi-Wan tapped on the disc in his ear and stared at the _Stallion Wicked_ in the viewport. They maintained synchronous orbit about Coruscant.

"Yes, master," Tir-Zen's voice crackled in his ear.

Obi-Wan glanced sidelong at Aylee, as she stood with her arms crossed, watching the other ship float. She could have had a headset of her own. She declined. He hadn't yet puzzled through why, but if she wanted him to be Tir-Zen's handler through his first undercover mission, then that's how they would play it.

He'd watched her face as she'd said no, and he got the distinct impression that she'd handed him far more than the mission's responsibility.

"Good. We'll arrive shortly after you. Go in. Act natural. Observe. See if anything pings your instincts."

"Yes, master."

"But, remember—"

"I'm not a Jedi."

"You're not a Jedi," Obi-Wan repeated. "You don't have the Force."

Aylee shifted her weight. "There's a lot you can do with the Force without being seen."

He slid her a look. "Yes. But it's better if he doesn't rely on it." He tapped the communicator in his ear off and nodded at Anakin.

The coms channel to the _Stallion Wicked_ flash up on the screen.

"Vaundri. We won't be far behind."

She smiled, mischief turning up her dark lips. "You want me to show him a good time?"

That was a thought. "Actually . . . yes. Maybe a drink someplace conspicuous?"

Vaundri laughed, deep and musical. "The whole damn place is conspicuous. How about . . . right at the bar. You won't be able to miss us."

"Oh, I'm not worried." Obi-Wan smiled. "I just don't want anyone _else_ to miss it."

She gave Tir-Zen a look over her shoulder and then smiled to her eyes. "See you when we see you."

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "May the Force be with you."

Takodana was the last outpost of Republic civilization for those heading to the Outer Rim and the first sign of a journey's end for those heading Coreward. A crossroads, always, and so it attracted those who found themselves perpetually liminal. Ships passed in the night through Takodana's skies. Credits passed hands at Maz Kanata's castle.

The _Night Vesper_ dropped out of a hyperspace nearly two hours after the _Stallion Wicked_ should have arrived. Not because they left later, but because Vaundri's personal modifications had done that much good. Aylee checked, again, that the diplomatic transponder was off before dropping them out of orbit, and they skimmed over lush forest as the castle grew on the horizon.

"A real castle."

"From the last Sith war," Obi-Wan nodded.

"And it doesn't have a name?"

Obi-Wan glanced over, eyebrows lifted. "Maz . . . Kanata's?"

Aylee deadpanned and stopped asking questions.

"I don't know," he said to her silence, "I've never been here, I've only heard about it."

The spaceport outside the castle shared a tremendous amount in common with a used ship lot. Corvettes and scouts of a hundred makes and models crowded in on another in uneven suggestions of rows. There were two actually stacked, but it looked intentional. The larger cargo haulers parked further out, while personal transports got to crouch around the entry bridge like waiting pets. The _Vesper_ and _Stallion_ counted among these, and Aylee set the ship down with only minor corrections from landing control.

Anakin stood waiting as they lowered the ramp, his mask already in place.

"Now remember," Obi-Wan said, "we're looking for the main ship for this expedition."

"Yes, master."

"We'll call you with any details on where you should look."

"Yes, master."

A silver orb thrummed out of the lounge and down the ladder into the cargo hold. Obi-Wan blinked at it.

"Good luck, Master Obi-Wan," the orb's lights pulsed as it spoke, and Anakin's chest puffed.

"You got it working!"

"I am indeed functional." The droid spun itself around. "QB2 at your service."

Aylee bowed a little. "Nice to meet you, QB."

"Likewise, Master Desai. Takodana is"—it paused and gave the impression of thinking—"very pleasant this time of year. Enjoy your trip!"

Obi-Wan laughed a little but hesitated, staring at Anakin. He turned when Aylee touched his arm to leave.

"He'll be fine," she whispered. "Now who's the worried one."

They stepped foot on the planet, and it felt like spring. Aylee made a pleased sound, and Obi-Wan lifted his eyes to the sky. Something golden touched him, different than sunshine. They walked toward the castle, and he found himself smiling.

"You know, that little droid wasn't lying! It _is_ a nice day. I could just . . . I don't know!" The urge to spin in a circle with his arms out struck him, but he reined it in.

Aylee laughed, beaming. "You can't tell."

"Can't tell what?"

She motioned to the castle. "Where it's coming from."

He shook his head in bemusement and breathed air of clean pine, feeling light. He looked at the castle and her outstretched hand.

"What? The good weather's not coming from the castle."

"No." She chuckled. "But it's not coming from the good weather."

They passed under the statue of Maz herself, and the walls loomed over them.

Aylee nudged at his arm. "Ben. Pay attention!"

"I am!" To her. He'd heard every word.

"No, you're not."

They neared the doors, and a deep rumbling thumping rattled the wood. Obi-Wan frowned at it. Then at her. She smiled. Delighted. Glowing with whatever he felt lifting his heart.

 _It's not the weather. It's the Force._

He frowned and checked the door again as though it held answers. "But . . . this place is a hive of . . . . lawless villainy."

"This place"—she put a hand on his shoulder and drew close—"is where people come to live. To celebrate. To laugh." She moved her hand to his cheek, burning, gentle, brilliant. "This place is _soaked_ in the Light." And then she slipped her hand away and poked him lightly on the chest. " _That's_ what you feel."


	21. Smuggler's Paradise

They entered to a wall of sound.

Aliens of all varieties lounged, laughed, shouted, and drank in raucous clusters in every corner of the massive main hall. Crowds shoved to get close to the bar, cheering and lifting drinks. But mostly, mostly the stone walls rang and ricocheted with a heavy, kicking beat. A throng of dancers crowded around a band.

"All you bitches out there! Can you feel the bass!" thundered from the speakers. Electronic warbles and drum hits turned the air to liquid concussion.

It slapped Obi-Wan's skin. Vibrated through his core, and he turned disbelieving eyes toward the stage. The song hit him like a hurricane. Winding pace. An ingrained rush of blood and the need for motion. He _knew_ this song—one of the Hardstyle tracks he ran to. This screeching rending of air, driving rhythm. He knew this _band_ —everything they'd ever produced.

He paused just inside the door as it thumped through him, blasting him apart. Wound him back together with something familiar. Without meaning to, he started to bob his head to the infectious rhythm. Tap his fingers against his legs. He closed his eyes for a second, just to feel it this loud, this—everywhere.

Surprise punched across the bond, and he opened his eyes to find Aylee staring.

"Really?" She lifted an eyebrow.

He froze, shame washing up his neck. "I . . ." He shrugged apologetically. "I first heard it on Mandalore!" he shouted, because everyone was shouting, because music like this blasted all internal thought to dust. "It was something I very much needed at the time!"

A smile stretched across Aylee's face as one song faded into another, and she started moving just as he had. A tentative bob of her head. A rhythmic flex of her hands. She searched for the beat and smiled at him as she found it. An eyebrow did something mischievous, and she grabbed his hand, hauled him across the floor to the throng of dancers.

He should have known. Should have guessed. She slid between bodies. Made space. Became one with the crowd.

Driving beats, rolling hips. She moved from her core, from her essence. Like no one cared.

They didn't.

He didn't know how to follow.

She took his hands. Bounced to the beat until he bounced. Pressed his hands into the air. Laughed as she waved her own.

 _Like me._

He did. No one was watching.

His heart raced as the songs rolled, one to another. Pounding beat. Sliding melody. Living Force rushed across his senses, thick in the air. Joyous eddies, spinning. Drunk.

A pair of Togrutas emerged from the throng, moving toward them through a sea of limbs. They touched Aylee's arms, her shoulders. The man moved behind her. Grinding hips, sinuous motions. He pressed a hand to her middle. The woman slid around the both of them. Sinking low. Touching throats and thighs.

Aylee touched the man's head-tail. He bent toward her neck. She met Obi-Wan's eyes. Reached for him while the dancers panted. Stroked.

Heart pounding. Breath short.

He surged for them.

The Togrutas melted from her. Swarmed over his arms and body. They moved with the beat. The man's hands on his hips. Hot breath in close space. The woman gyrating from behind, sliding down his back. Hard montral scraping the nape of his neck in glancing contrast.

Foreheads touched, panting to the beat. Slick skin.

The man took his hand and brought it to a head-tail. Leaving space. Letting him choose, but begging with his eyes, with his gasps. They soaked in a sea of desire, all of them. Riding its waves. Smiling. Laughing. Loving.

He closed his fingers on soft flesh. Stroked.

Felt the man's moan in the breath across his face. His shudder as they touched cheek to cheek.

Obi-Wan swallowed. Electrified. Powerful.

Hands swept his torso, his legs. The man slid around behind him, leaving a trail of heat.

The woman kissed his other cheek. And the air shook. They collected one another and melted away.

Obi-Wan stood staring. Panting. Skin alive with the need for more.

The bass beating the air eased, and he turned to find Aylee watching with dark eyes and sweat-streaked hair. Parted lips.

 _Stars_.

Life not as a Jedi but as a man. Self-denial a distant idea. The Force lived _here_. Amid writhing bodies. And music. And motion.

Pleasures.

Free of fear.

 _Passion, yet serenity._

The speakers kicked a bass hit that punched his innards, with a passing wave and rose hairs on the back of his neck. He thought of their kiss on the floor of her room.

 _The Council would not approve._

The Council who made him more. And who made him less.

His heart hammered to the music, and they cut the lights. Turned them blue. And he felt the weightlessness of slipping. The primal instinct not to fall. To run.

A breathless stride brought them together, and he clutched her hand with a desperate squeeze. Turned into the crowd awash in blacks and blues. They wove through the moving mass, seeking air. Stillness. Anything.

He shook by the time he breached through, stumbling toward a table far from the stage.

"Ben."

He pressed on, stops and starts, dodging around patrons and waitresses.

"Ben!"

Aylee hauled him to a halt, and he turned. Not angry, urgent. Short, panicked breaths.

She frowned. "Hey . . ." And touched his cheek with her free hand.

He shook his head. "It's nothing."

And he was, by her expression, a transparent fool. He swallowed, and she let him have his lie, squeezing on his hand instead. For a breath, he closed his eyes, then started for the empty table like nothing bit at his heels.

He sat, not letting go, and brushed a hand back through his damp hair. Breathing. Breathing . . .

Aylee sat in a chair across from him, studying their clasped fingers. She didn't press. Stars knew why—he would have. A short waitress trundled to their table.

Two glasses clunked onto the table more heavily than necessarily, sloshing their contents. Yellow liquid bubbled, pouring steam over the side of the glass. Obi-Wan jerked in surprised at their sudden arrival and stared at the waitress. She had deeply wrinkled orange skin and enormous glasses that shrunk her eyes to dots. The shock of realization made Obi-Wan's hand go slack.

Maz Kanata.

Her statue stood outside.

Aylee withdrew her fingers and looked at their visitor, eyes going wide.

"Jedi," Maz said, eyeing them both.

"We're not—"

"I know Jedi when I see them, child." She cut him off smoothly. "What I don't know is what you're doing in my law-abiding establishment."

Obi-Wan cocked his head. "Miss Kanata, if the stories are anything to go by, you're anything but law-abiding."

Maz narrowed her eyes. "And if my experience is anything to go by, Jedi rarely come out for a drink and a good time."

Obi-Wan glanced at Aylee.

 _Thoughts?_

Maz jolted and backed up a step. "Very . . . interesting," Maz said, looking between the two of them.

"What?" Obi-Wan asked, frowning at her.

Maz leaned toward them, conspiratorial. "A force bond. Maybe I'm not the only one who isn't so law-abiding, eh?"

Cold struck Obi-Wan's spine, and Aylee's eyes flashed.

"You can tell?" Aylee asked, her words sharp and low.

Maz smirked and tapped her glasses. "I can _see_ it. And you don't see that every day."

"D-do you know any more?" Aylee ventured.

She squinted at them and straightened. "What could I know that a Jedi doesn't?"

"Please!" Aylee said, hushed. She leaned toward Maz. "You could know a lot. Force bonds don't exist in the Temple."

Maz clucked her tongue and laughed. "That's not how the Force works."

"I know." Aylee pressed her hands flat to the table and looked into the pirate queen's small eyes. "But in the _Temple_ , they don't exist. And I think you know that."

Maz considered her. Then suddenly, "Are you going to try your drinks? I got you the house special."

"I don't suppose the house special is _on_ the house?" Obi-Wan asked, adding a bit of charm in the lift of an eyebrow.

The old woman gave him a sly smile and patted the table. "That's not how a _bar_ works." She patted her pockets and sighed, shaking her head. "Left my damn pad . . . I'll be right back."

Obi-Wan watched her disappear into the crowd around the bar.

"Did you just let her charge us for information?" Aylee asked. She sat back and crossed her arms.

A small smile touched Obi-Wan's lips. "Well, I _tried_."

He leaned his elbows on the table and scanned through the crowd. A knot of cheering drinkers near the bar shuffled around, and he caught glimpse of a burgundy flight suit and black braid.

 _Hey._ He gestured with his chin. _Look._

Vaundri slammed a shot glass down on the bar to a round of cheers. And next to her, Tir-Zen did the same to jeers and commiserating slaps. Tee nodded at her and held his hands up in surrender. Vaundri kissed him on the cheek, fawning, and plucked credit chits from various hands in the crowd. She made her exit, striding by the corner where Obi-Wan and Aylee sat with a sidelong glance and a twist of her lips as the only acknowledgment.

Maz returned with a datapad held out her hand for a credit chit.

Obi-Wan handed his over and declined to look at the price as she held up a datapad for his thumb print. Aylee gave the drink a tentative sniff before lifting it to her lips. She made a sound of surprise.

"It's cold. Sweet. Sour."

Maz Kanata winked at her. "My dear, it's a little of everything." She handed back the chit. "So, what have they told you?"

"It's dangerous," Obi-Wan replied with a sardonic smile. Wasn't the galaxy? Wasn't everything?

"Nothing more than that." Maz shook her head, her small mouth twisting bitterly. "Dangerous . . . yes." She looked at Aylee. "Do you know how it works?"

"I know that it depends on vibrations being in tune. The Living Force being in harmonic alignment."

"We can combine power," Obi-Wan offered, whispering.

Maz's expression fell. "You can combine more than that. The Living Force and the Cosmic Force . . . are just sides of the same coin. Bound." She cupped her hands. "Unbound." And opened them. "It's dangerous because you can get lost when you're unbound. No way back. No _reason_ to come back."

A chill ran down Obi-Wan's arms, and he shifted uncomfortably. Maz focused on him, peering into his eyes through those thick lenses.

"You know," she said quietly.

He nodded, feeling his pulse in his fingers. That first time. He'd thought of it as mixing minds. Feeling her soul. They'd been careful since, sharing only power. He had thought it felt like touching the universe.

He stared at Maz, and something twitched around her eyes.

"So do you," he whispered back.

Her mouth pressed flat, and she plucked the tray from the table. "Be careful."

Aylee straightened. "Wait. Wait, please!"

The old woman turned away. "They were right to tell you that much."

"Miss Kanata!" Obi-Wan called after her, but she marched away, ducking back behind the bar.

"You"—Aylee reached over the table and smacked his hand—"idiot!"

"I-I just . . . saw something. I-I didn't mean—" He gestured at the bar.

Aylee scowled. "That's the first person we've met who knows anything about this!" Her hushed voice hissed.

"I'm . . . aware," he replied, the words dropping like stones.

Aylee leaned back and crossed her arms, breaking to take annoyed sips of her drink.

"This isn't even why we're here," he whispered.

She glanced at him.

"She's a thousand years old. We can come back."

She ignored him.

"Aylee . . ."

Then she lifted her chin minutely toward the bar. "Something's happening."

And Obi-Wan turned to see Tir-Zen rising from his seat, surrounded by an assortment of rough-looking men and aliens. _This_ was why they were here. He touched the communicator in his ear and gave Aylee a significant look as he leaned on the table and listened.

A Weequay clapped Tir-Zen on the back. "So, Berzirk . . . I call you Zirk, yes?"

"All right," Tee replied, letting his rasp play heavy on his voice.

"Good! Zirk. Won two rounds against the _Stallion_ , eh? She was being nice to you. You know that, yes?"

Tee shrugged, pacing with the man to a seating area filled with pillows strewn across the floor and a low table with hookah and many pipes.

"That's not what my bill says."

The Weequay barked a laugh. "Funny. I like you."

Tir-Zen shrugged again, as though the man's like was hardly a currency worth having. "Do you only do business with people you like?"

The man paused in reaching for a mouthpiece.

Obi-Wan whispered, "Be cautious, Tir-Zen. Don't rush it."

"Who says I'm here doing business?" the man asked, and picked up the hookah pipe slowly.

Tir-Zen crossed his arms and motioned with his chin. "That tattoo on your neck. I've counted fifteen others in here with one just like. Might be more if I looked harder. Maybe you're a knitting club here on vacation. But . . . I doubt it."

A puff on the pipe, and the man exhaled smoke in Tee's face. "This tattoo means I'm an enforcer with The Howling Tempest. You heard of them?"

Obi-Wan tapped on his datapad. "The Howling Tempest is a mercenary gang from the Outer Rim. Tell him . . . D'lan Nymesh spoke of them."

"Ah," Tir-Zen said, drawing the word out. "From the Outer Rim. D'lan Nymesh mentioned them once. I've never met one in person."

"Nymesh," the Weequay repeated. "Slaver?"

Tee nodded once. "The same."

"Isn't he in jail?"

"He is. Risky job went south on Coruscant." He shook his head. "Stupid of him."

"Risk is part of the job. Part of the _fun_."

Tir-Zen shook his head again. "There's risky, and then there's stupid."

The Weequay chuckled. "And you can tell the difference?"

"I have good instincts."

"Is that what happened to your voice? Good instincts?"

Obi-Wan scowled, but all he could see from across the room was Tir-Zen's back. He stood very still.

"No," he said eventually. "I was working for spice miners on Sevarcos II. Pilot fucking fell asleep, so the wind rider hit a crosswind. Dumped us over. My mask broke." He lifted his shoulders in a tight shrug. "Breathed too much of that sand shit air."

Another plume of white smoke rose above them.

"Spice mining. Big bucks!"

"High cost, too."

The Weequay hmphed. "That what you do? Your . . . specialty?"

 _What's going on?_ Aylee sent.

Obi-Wan cut her look and motioned with one hand of patience.

 _He's reeling him in._

"Not anymore. Now I deal in . . . antiquities."

It was a significant pause. One that the Weequay could pick up on, if he wanted. If the recruitment was indeed happening here. If he was part of it. Pure fishing expedition on Tir-Zen's part, but he had to find the right people somehow.

The man offered Tir-Zen the pipe he'd been smoking.

Obi-Wan spoke softly. "It's courtesy to take it, but if you do, hold the smoke in your mouth and let it out slowly. Don't inhale."

He watched Tir-Zen do exactly that and sent a thought across the bond.

 _Tell Anakin we're looking for Howling Tempest ships. He might be able to narrow it down._

Aylee nodded and pulled her comlink from her belt. Distantly, he heard the murmur of her voice, but he kept his attention on Tee. Tir-Zen passed the hookah back after one mouthful.

The Weequay eyed him. "That's it? It's good stuff. We always have the good stuff."

"Bad for the lungs," Tee said, roughing his voice a little extra.

That was smart, tying in the story he'd told. The enforcer grunted and stroked at the tendrils on his chin.

"Tell me, Zirk. I check you out, what am I gonna find?"

"Mostly? Shemba the Hutt," Tir-Zen said.

Oh, brilliant boy. Obi-Wan smiled and tried a bit of the expensive cocktail still steaming.

The enforcer set down the hookah mouthpiece and crossed his arms. "Hutts don't take kindly to liars."

"No, they don't. Look me up, if you want. So long as you haven't left yet, I've got time."

"Left?"

Obi-Wan whispered into the mic. "Don't seem too eager. You're a professional after a pay day. He's close. Push him a little, if you have to."

Tir-Zen scoffed. "We're all here for the same thing, Olen. You wanna be coy? Fine. Don't waste my time." He turned and headed back for the bar.

 _Have Anakin look up the name Olen._

Obi-Wan watched the Weequay stare at Tir-Zen's back. He hesitated, scowling, then muttered something, but Tee was too far for the microphone to pick it up.

"I pushed him a little," Tee whispered.

Olen trotted after him, a hand raised. He made placating gestures, and the chatter through the mic picked up his voice again.

"Thing is. The Howling Tempest. We have rules."

"Yeah?"

"Everyone must earn their place. You understand. Standards."

Tir-Zen downed a shot and turned to face Olen.

"Earn it how?"

Obi-Wan saw the white points of Olen's teeth as he smiled.

"The pit," he said.

Obi-Wan sat up straight. "Oh no . . ." he breathed.

"What?" Aylee straightened too.

"Maz!" Olen voice rang out loud enough to hear without a mic. "Open the pit!"

Obi-Wan tapped the headphones off and met Aylee's look of alarm. "He's going to have to fight."

"He—what?"

The castle shook as a wall that had seemed solid started scraping open.

Dread ran cold fingers over Obi-Wan's shoulders, and his stomach tightened. "It's a cage match."

Aylee bolted from her chair, eyes wide, and Obi-Wan darted into her path.

"Aylee"—he held his hands up, placating—"he can do this."

"He's never fought to hurt someone!" she hissed and charged around him.

He scuttled back into her way.

"He's trained his _whole_ life." He tried to put his hands on her shoulders, but she batted them off.

A fury whipped through her, barely contained behind her eyes. "He could get hurt."

"He probably will." Obi-Wan held her gaze, while her expression turned dangerous. "But that's who we are. We get hurt and we get up."

She shook her head a little, restrained emotion burning her face.

Obi-Wan tried again to put his hands on her shoulders, and this time she let him. "He's not a consular," he said gently. "You know this."

She looked away and nodded.

"I've dueled him. He's eager. He's inventive. Trust him. Please."

Aylee's frown and heated breathing calmed, revealing the true core of emotion. Fear. She worked a few times to start saying something and settled for pressing her eyes closed. Around them, the occupants of the bar moved like a dam had broken, flowing into the newly opened arena. She smiled, a forced, sad, expression that flecked her eyelashes with tears.

"I lose my perspective when it comes to him," she said, words small. She laughed, trying not to cry.

"I know." Obi-Wan pulled her to his chest and brushed a hand down her hair. "But that's why I'm here. Trust _me_. All right?"

He felt her nod, and they pulled away to join the crowd. Obi-Wan tapped his headphones on again.

"Master!" Tir-Zen hissed. "Are you there? Master!"

"I'm here, Tir-Zen. I'm sorry."

He heard Tee sigh unsteadily.

The crowd filed into stadium seats built from the castle stones and topped with faded cushions. Obi-Wan and Aylee pressed their way to the lowest seats, tossing a few suggestions here and there that the view might be better elsewhere.

"Where are you?" Obi-Wan asked.

Tir-Zen's voice floated from the ether, back by the dulled sound of the crowd. "Behind the arena. A staging area, I think. Master, I-I . . ."

"Don't tell me you're not prepared for this," Obi-Wan said.

Silence answered him, and he considered he next words.

"You nearly beat me in a duel, Tir-Zen. The first time out."

"We had lightsabers."

"Yes. But it wasn't the lightsaber that almost beat me, was it? It was you. Anticipating moves. Acting with confidence and ingenuity. A lightsaber's a tool. You are the weapon."

A pause. "Yes, Master."

Speakers screeched overhead, and a heavy Duros paced out into the arena. It was an old battleground. A dirt hole lined with castle stones, except for the bare floor. All covered in the suggestion of age due to rust. Save for the fact that stone didn't rust.

Obi-Wan grimaced.

"Friends and enemies . . ." the Duros announcer said, lifting his arms as he turned.

His voice echoed in Obi-Wan's ear through Tee's microphone with a whine of feedback. The piercing sound made Obi-Wan flinch.

"Tee, I'm going to disconnect the com. But we're here. We'll see you." He tapped the dot in his ear before the announcer had a chance to speak again. And before he heard any reply Tee might have offered.

". . . dignified guests, applications for The Howling Tempest are now open. The rules are simple. No blasters. No shields. No assisted flight. Entrants will fight a Tempest Enforcer of our choosing. The fight is ended when one of them folds."

"Death!" someone howled from the stands.

The Duros whirled and pointed to the crowd. "Death is not required, but sometimes is unavoidable."

Cheering rose from the crowd with howls and hoots and trumpets from inhuman throats.

"I thought this place was filled with Light," Obi-Wan muttered under his breath.

"Life," Aylee replied. "They're joyous, even if it's cruel."

He shook his head slowly and perched his elbows on his knees. Rested his chin on clasped hands.

A board above the arena flickered and started listing out names.

"The betting may now begin!" the Duros announcer roared.

A thunder of pounding feet shook the arena in approval, and Obi-Wan felt Aylee shift closer, so they touched hip to knee. She was staring up at the board. He had more platitudes queued, but a strange calm had come over her face. A stillness that reflected anything he might read into it.

Berzirk Ptolem's name came up third on the list, matched against Juko. It was meaningless to either of them, but the crowd reacted to the listing with a hush of awe. Obi-Wan exchanged a worried look with Aylee; that sound was rarely a good one. A few more listings earned similar responses, and bookie-bots pulsed around the crowd taking bets.

The last name filled in, and the announcer walked into the spotlight on the arena floor. He held up his arms in a signal for attention, and the lights above the spectators dimmed, quieting the crowd.

"The pit is open!" he cried, to a thunder of feet. "Our first contender is Ralah Fes, a human from Lothal, against our own Pamarthan, Venn Stormgord. Step up, ladies!"

They both walked into the arena in short sleeve shirts, pants, and boots. Both brandished knives, but took different grips and stances. The fight—this fight, at least—was attempting to be fair. They flew at one another with brisk brutality. Swipes of the blades, kicks, punches. Venn could take a hit to the jaw and roll with it. Ralah took a boot to the face and sprawled to the ground, but kept fighting.

Obi-Wan took only a passing interest in the style and outcome. Venn showed maturity to her movements, conserving energy when possible. Blood ran from her nose and a cut on her cheek, but she stayed up, focused. And it was little surprise when she cornered her opponent against the stone wall and knocked her cold with an elbow strike to the forehead.

A horn blared, marking the end of the match, and medical droids swept out into the pit to collect the fallen Ralah.

Aylee watched impassively. Obi-Wan couldn't gauge if that was a good sign or a bad one.

A cathar and Mandalorian squared off for the second round. They let the Mandalorian keep his armor, but without a blaster, it was a bare knuckle brawl against the cathar's claws. Training against instinct. Obi-Wan leaned closer as the match began. Flinched as the Mandalorian took a kick to the stomach. The urge to shout boiled in his throat as the cathar whirled, all show, and the man caught his shoulder, knocked him off balance. The crowd thundered with approval. Bets were on the cathar; the incumbent.

Obi-Wan would have put his money on the Mandalorian, if he were a betting man. The cathar got in a few deep gouges around the Mandalorian's armor. One across the face that dripped blood from his chin and would probably scar. But the human fought like a soldier, trained for endurance. Trained to spot weaknesses. He made his opponent repeat himself, reveal where he had no mind to guard.

And that's how he got him. An elbow to the knee to disable him with pain and a powerful punch to the jaw for a knockout. A new Howling Tempest member hobbled out of the arena, and Obi-Wan found himself clapping along with the spectators' applause. It was a hard won victory, and well deserved.

Aylee shot him a questioning look, and at the cold sting in her eyes, his hands slowed. Gut clenched with contrition. He considered arguing at the talent on display, but it was the wrong argument. And the wrong time.

The Duros announcer took center stage again and raised his arms. "For the third match of the day, we bring you Tempest Enforcer Juko against Bersirk Ptolem, a Zabrack merc with eyes like fire!"

Obi-Wan tensed as the announcer cleared out of the way, and he could feel Aylee's stress spin fine as wire. The lights spread across the arena floor, revealing the contenders, and Aylee sucked a sharp breath.

A Besalisk.

Juko was a Besalisk.

Obi-Wan felt his pulse quicken. "That's hardly fair," he said, voice tight. He tapped the com to Tir-Zen back on.

"Tir-Zen, listen to me very carefully," he said, talking fast.

Out in the arena, Tir-Zen strode toward the center, wearing leather pants and boots, an undershirt, and his bright red fingerless gloves. He lowered his head as Obi-Wan spoke, acknowledging without making a sound.

Obi-Wan went on. "Those extra limbs have a lot of muscle. They use a lot of energy. Besalisks have low endurance. You can wear him out. Be _fast_. You can't use the Force in any way they can see. But you _can_ use it. Anticipate. And when you hit him, hit hard. Aim for the body. His head's a hard shell, you'll only hurt yourself. The skeletons to support those arms mean lots of breakable bones, do you understand?"

Tir-Zen rolled his shoulders as he neared the referee and worked a nod into the motion.

"Good. You can do this. Trust your instincts." Obi-Wan took a breath. "I'm turning the com off so you can concentrate."

Tir-Zen punched one fist into his other hand.

"Don't bow!" Obi-Wan added. "You'll give yourself away."

Tee tipped his head to the side, swung his arms out loose, and repeated the punching motion. Obi-Wan pressed the dot in his ear before he got the urge to give more unsolicited advice. Juko cracked the knuckles on all four hands and smiled.

They were of the same height. But Besalisks are built heavy, bigger frames, more muscle to move those frames.

The referee lowered his hand into the space separating them, nodded once to each contestant, then flung his hand up as his pedestal lifted him from the arena floor. Tir-Zen fell immediately into a fighting stance, his fists up and ready, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

Aylee's knee started bouncing, and Obi-Wan pressed it down with his palm—all his attention glued to the arena floor.

They circled, Tir-Zen testing Juko's sense of space. The tipping point at which he'd move toward an opening. Tee darted in—mistimed.

Juko swung a lower right and caught him below the ribs. Followed with an upper right slug to the face.

Aylee gasped as Tee staggered back, spinning from the force of the blow. He made space. Righted himself. A cut on his cheek seeped blood, and he favored his left side for a few steps.

Cautious then. He stepped close. Feinted. Slid out of reach.

"C'mon!" Juko roared.

Tee ducked in for a second try. Juko's lower left arm came for him. He was ready. Blocked.

The upper right hit him same as before. His head snapped to the side and he spun, falling to his knees. He panted, his hands spread into the dirt as Juko loomed behind him.

"That all you got!" the big man roared, drew back his left arms, and lunged.

Tir-Zen shifted his weight and pressed himself into a handspring. His bootheels connected with the joint of Juko's lower arm, combining the forces of their motion.

Something must have broken. Juko's fists popped open, and his charge reeled to a stop with a low howl.

Tee gathered his limbs and spun himself into a low disc of sweeping motion. He connected with Juko's left knee, knocking it out from under him. Spun back up onto his own feet and danced backward.

Pride flooded Obi-Wan's system as he recognized an Ataru kata in the movements.

Juko lumbered back to his feet and turned with a snarl. His lower left arm hung at an odd angle.

More pride. Tee had broken the arm joint for sure.

A second cut on Tir-Zen's face, above his eye, leaked more blood, and he had to swipe it away. His whole frame rose and fell with deep, even breaths as he circled his opponent.

Juko heaved with anger, lunging with small steps, swiping his big fists, despite Tir-Zen's distance.

A third time, Tir-Zen closed in, quick driving strides.

The Besalisk led with his lower limbs. And Tee knew it.

He threw up a block against the lower right. The upper left. The upper right. A flurry of too many limbs. Drew back, and threw a punch at the exposed joint he'd already broken.

Juko crumpled over his injury. Cried a harmonic of pain that left Tir-Zen momentarily stunned with surprise. He dropped his guard, observing what he'd done.

"No, Tee," Obi-Wan whispered, urgent and useless.

Juko flailed wildly, and the back of a fist caught Tir-Zen under the jaw. His feet left the ground as he flew backward, and only instinct turned him in the air so a foot would land first and sending him into a cartwheel. With Force he could have landed solidly and come up facing his enemy.

He didn't.

His foot must have caught uneven ground, and without the extra control, he tumbled to the dirt. Heaving, he pressed up onto his arms, shaking.

Obi-Wan's pulse raced as Juko righted himself and shook off the pain. He bared a wide mouthful of teeth.

"Get up," Obi-Wan muttered. He tapped the dot in his ear. "Tir-Zen. Get. Up!"

Tee's head jerked at the sudden voice.

"Behind you!" He tapped the dot off again, as Tee twisted to get a look.

Juko ran at him. It was a short distance, a few strides.

Tir-Zen waited. Anticipated the stomp. He rolled onto his back and swung his heel at Juko's weakened left knee, already taking the weight as he readied to stomp with his right. The Besalisk went down, cursing. He swung his fists like hammers. The lower left hit Tee's stomach, while he tossed the upper left aside with a block.

He scurried away, sliding from beneath Juko's limbs and bulk. He got his legs under him, and they faced one another, crouching. Heaving pained breaths.

Juko tipped his head down, dug his clawed toes into the dirt. He pressed his knuckles to the ground, and for a second had the form of a sprinter.

As massive as he was in comparison, he could move.

He charged like a bantha, like a battering ram.

Tir-Zen waited.

Obi-Wan's stomach knotted. His toes curled in his boots.

Five meters.

One.

Tee dove.

A perfect, fluid somersault. A quick tumble by Juko's left side that brought him back up to his knees in a cloud of dust. Juko halted and whirled.

Tir-Zen drove for him, a strong leap, shoulder first. Aimed for the space between the flailing left arms and the circling right ones.

They collided with a thud, and a sound tore from the Besalisk's throat. A gasp. A grunt. His limbs froze, raised, blocking the view.

Obi-Wan frowned and leaned closer. Blood rushed in his ears as the crowd fell to a sudden silence.

A sound like a strangle scream echoed off the stones.

Tee's feet dug into the dirt as he pushed. Strained and changed direction.

Juko wailed, and Tir-Zen staggered free of him.

The Besalisk's hands went to his middle as he stumbled back and fell. Every breath a scream.

Tir-Zen turned slowly, his whole body heaving in an arena silent except for Juko's terror. It took everyone a few seconds to realize what he had done.

Blood dripped from his horns. Painted his scalp and face in red.

Aylee gasped and clasped her hands prayer-like over her nose and mouth.

Obi-Wan's jaw simply dropped.

Juko lay gored, gutted, on the arena floor in a growing pool of red.

Tir-Zen did not move except to tremble.

Medical droids rushed from the exit and slid Juko on a gurney, efficiently stripping off his shirt and applying a spray of bacta foam.

No one cheered. The arena held its breath as the referee lowered his stand and paced to Tir-Zen's side.

Aylee breathed unsteadily, fighting back sobs.

The referee took Tir-Zen's wrist in one hand and lifted it above his head.

"The winner . . . Berzirk Ptolem!"

His voice broke the tension in the air, and the audience erupted into cheers. They pounded the stone with their feet and chanted his name, while Tir-Zen turned in a slow circle, staring at them, expressionless.

Aylee bolted to her feet and shoved past, leaving Obi-Wan to scramble after her. She made for the bar and leaned her hands against the edge of it, gasping for breath. Obi-Wan touched the disc in his ear.

"Tir-Zen," he said gently. "Meet us at the bar when you have a chance."

"Yes, Master," Tee replied, his rasping voice hollow.

Obi-Wan turned the com off again and put a hand on Aylee's back. She shook her head and stared down at the floor.

"What did we make him do?" she asked. Whispered.

He grimaced. "He did the job."

Aylee snorted and straightened, searching for a bartender.

Obi-Wan watched in distressed silence as Aylee ordered three shots of Durian Blue and tossed them back with nary a pause between.

"Aylee," he said, gently coaxing.

She caught the bartender's eye and tapped on the glasses, signaling for more.

He let two more shots go by before trying again.

"Aylee, he did exactly what we asked of him."

She paused with the sixth shot halfway to her lips. "I know." She she tossed that one back, too.

He frowned as she set the glass down. "You can't be angry with him," he ventured.

"I'm not—" Her words came out sharp and she paused, closed her eyes. " _Angry_ with him," she said, finishing with soft despair. "We—" She struggled visibly over the words and swallowed. Opened her eyes, glistening with tears, and jabbed a finger slowly toward the arena. " _My_ —" Her lips trembled, and she curled her fingers and tapped them over her heart. She sniffed, fighting the tears back in and signaled to the bartender for three more.

Obi-Wan's heart ached. Bleed over, maybe. Probably not. "He's not your little boy anymore," he offered, gentling the words. Completing the path of her thoughts.

She nodded and downed another shot. Set the glass down silently.

"He's a warrior," Obi-Wan went on. "A good one. He just proved that. He used Ataru moves I taught him only weeks ago."

"I know."

"Be proud!"

"I _am_ proud."

He cast a skeptical look at rounds eight and nine still waiting on the bar top.

Aylee shook her head with a bitter smile. "You don't understand. I'm the brutal one. Between me and Tee, _I'm_ the brutal one. That's _my_ job. He's—" Her eyes flooded again.

Obi-Wan shifted closer, putting a hand on her shoulder and leaning toward her ear. "He's a good man," he said quietly.

Aylee lifted her eyes to him. "I just need to do this _one_ thing right." Her voice was thick.

Obi-Wan nodded. "You already have."

She smiled and broke the eye contact to contemplate the shot glasses. Obi-Wan stepped back a little to give her space.

"You can't let him think you're disappointed in him," he said. "It'll devastate him. You know that."

She scoffed and downed the eighth shot. "You're an expert in emotions now?"

That stung, but he let her have it. "In disappointment," he corrected.

Aylee gave him a long look and eventually nodded. "I know," she whispered. She sighed and finished her last shot and held her face in her hands while the bartender cleared the glasses away.

Obi-Wan caught the bartender's attention and gestured with two fingers. "Red rum, please." It was rare and expensive and good for celebration.

He turned his back to the bar and leaned against it, propping his elbows on the bar top while they waited. Eventually, Tir-Zen emerged from the pit room, fully regaled as Berzirk, with his black jacket. Behind him, the crowd roared, the sound muffled by the narrow opening of the doorway. As he got closer, it became clear he'd mopped the blood from his face. Lines of wet-looking substance, bactaglue, sealed the cuts on his face shut. Obi-Wan stood up straight to meet him, smiling even as he saw lines of blood on Tir-Zen's horns. Evidence of a quick wipe down instead of a shower. The eye near the cuts was bloodshot, too.

Obi-Wan offered him one of the shots of rum. "To the new champion," he said.

Tee huffed and took the glass, while Obi-Wan lifted the other. They clinked them together and downed them.

"Haven't you had a lot of these today?" Obi-Wan asked, signaling for another round.

Tir-Zen smiled and threw back a second one. "Zabracks don't get drunk on ethanol," he said quietly.

Obi-Wan blinked at him and slowly frowned. "Wait. So, Vaundri—"

Tee quirked an eyebrow and shrugged, then waved at the bartender. "Do you have methanol gin?"

The woman behind the bar leveled an insulted look at him and pulled down a bottle from an upper cabinet. Tir-Zen held up two fingers, and she set him up. He quickly knocked them down and sighed.

"You did brilliantly, out there," Obi-Wan told him.

Tee looked at him and blinked slowly in a preen.

"I'm serious. Hamstrung like you were? You should be very proud."

"Thank you, master," Tee whispered. "Your advice about the joints was . . . incredibly useful."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "So I saw."

Aylee hadn't said anything, and Tir-Zen leaned to peer down the bar at her, then stepped around the obstacle Obi-Wan had made of himself to approach her from behind.

Aylee turned, looked up at him, smiled.

"You did good," she told him, and he took an unsteady breath. Exhaled a sigh. She went on. "Obi-Wan tells me you used some Ataru moves out there."

Tir-Zen ducked his head and scratched at the back of his neck. "I did. A little."

"See? What did I tell you? Learn everything you can, while you can." She poked him in the chest.

He took a breath, then hesitated. Tried a second time. "He's going to live," he said. "They have a bacta tank, and he's going to live. I checked."

Aylee's eyes shone, and her smile turned fond. "Of course you did." She hooked one of his horns with her finger and tugged on it. If she noticed the remnants of blood, it didn't show, and Tir-Zen leaned into the gesture with a well-worn patience.

When she let him go, he stood a little straighter and offered them both tight-lipped smiles.

"Zirky!"

Tir-Zen took a surprised step back and turned to meet Olen as he approached.

"Making new friends?" the Weequay asked, as he slapped the back of Tir-Zen's shoulder.

Obi-Wan jerked his thumb toward the lines of empty shot glasses. "We were just congratulating the winner! Quite a show."

"Yes . . . ha ha! Yes, indeed." He slapped Tee again. "I bet on you, Zirky! Won big!"

Tir-Zen looked unimpressed. "Glad to hear it."

"Well, now you're in. Time to meet the crew. Party with your fans later."

Tir-Zen lifted his chin toward Obi-Wan. "Thanks for the drinks." And turned to follow Olen.

"Best of luck!" Obi-Wan called after him, then ambled around to face the bar.

He pointed two fingers at the empty Red Rum shots, and offered the bartender his credit chit.

They found a quiet corner to sit and observe. Aylee got an electrolyte slurry to counteract the Dorian Blue, and Obi-Wan sipped idly at something Maz had delivered to their table personally, with a squinty, suspicious look. The action in the pit continued, occupying most of the patrons' attention. The Corellian Hardstyle band had emptied the stage, leaving the castle oddly empty. Like they were there outside hours, even though Maz didn't _keep_ hours.

Aylee's comlink chimed, and she met Obi-Wan's gaze before answering.

"Aylee Desai," she said, dropping her title despite their relative solitude.

"Uh, it's Anakin." His frown came through the com quite clearly.

Aylee smiled. "Go ahead." She turned a dial on the side of the com down, and Obi-Wan leaned closer.

"So . . . I found Olen's ship," Anakin said. "QB pulled the records from the nav computer, but there's nothing on it for future trips."

"Hyperspace drive?" Obi-Wan asked.

"I looked. Hyperspace drives can store precalculated routes, but everything in the log is a Core world. It—it wouldn't be on a Core world, would it?"

Obi-Wan lifted his eyes to meet Aylee's, and she shook her head.

"Probably not," she said.

"Master," Anakin whispered, like he knew he wasn't supposed to say it but didn't know his other options, "I don't know where else to look."

Obi-Wan frowned and bit his lower lip.

After a long pause, Anakin's voice came over the com again. "Master?"

"I heard you, Anakin. I'm just not sure myself. If the coordinates aren't on the ships, then someone here must have them. Get back to the _Vesper_. We'll try something else."

"Okay. Just as soon as we're done."

Obi-Wan frowned at the comlink. "Done? Done with what?"

"Bye!"

"Anakin!"

The light on the comlink flicked off, and Obi-Wan stared at Aylee. She shrugged, and he sighed, distress and foreboding threading into his body. He took his comlink from his belt but hesitated at calling Anakin back. Aylee didn't say anything. She just watched. And as far as he could tell, she did so without judgment. But still. He couldn't help compare her trust in Tir-Zen with his own methods that had so resulted in as much rebellion as conformation.

He gave it second's more contemplation and slipped the comlink back in place.

"What now?" Aylee asked quietly. Her eyes tracked patrons moving behind Obi-Wan's back.

He ducked his head and tapped on the headphone dot in his ear as discreetly as he could. The mic on the other end transmitted the dull warble of speaking voices in a variety of alien languages.

"Tir-Zen," Obi-Wan said quietly.

Tee cleared his throat. "Whatever you say, Olen."

The Weequay laughed, followed by the sound of someone slapping leather.

Obi-Wan waited for a break. "Anakin found Olen's ship. No location data for us to steal. Someone in the Howling Tempest must have it."

He heard Tir-Zen swallow something. "So. If I'm a recruit and you're an enforcer. Who else is there?"

Olen hummed. "Pilots. Crew chiefs. Hawkers. And . . . the big man."

"The big man?"

" _Chief_ chief. Mizzul."

Tir-Zen took another drink, pacing himself. "So when do I meet Mizzul?"

The Weequay laughed, another sharp bark. "When, he says! Presumptuous, Zirky, I like it. When. Heh."

There was a pause, and Obi-Wan could only imagine what Tir-Zen was doing. By the drop in his voice when he spoke, scowling seemed like a good bet.

"I don't work for people I don't know."

"You passed the test. You already do."

Tir-Zen snorted. "I wasn't passing your test. You were passing mine. And now . . . I'm interested in seeing more."

It was a cunning play, refusing the give the Tempest the fealty and respect they demanded out of hand. A dangerous play. If they didn't think Berzirk was a valuable enough asset, they might just drop him.

"They're recruiting," Obi-Wan whispered in Tee's ear. "That means they need talent. Let him stew for a while. He needs you, more than you need him."

Tir-Zen went back to his drink. After a few moment of silence, Olen's voice crooned over the com.

"Ahhhh, Zirky, I'm playing with you! Don't look so grim! Mizzul sees all the new recruits." Another slapping sound. "When the pit is closed, _then_ we party. _Then_ we go. It's a good tradition."

"Being hungover on a job?"

Olen tsked. "Celebrating while you can." His jocular voice grew sober. "What good is it waiting until the end, when some of you might not make it there?"

Tir-Zen drew a deep breath. "I see what you mean."

"So!" Another slap. "Drink! And don't be sullen!"

"I'll try my best," Tir-Zen rasped.

Olen's voice grew distant as he greeted someone else and moved out of the range of Tee's mic.

"You get all that?" Tee whispered.

Obi-Wan caught Aylee's eye to be sure she was listening. "Yes. Mizzul sounds like our man. You'll have to try to get him alone somehow. If you can get them to come back out to the bar, that would be extra helpful. We can't see anything where you are, and I suspect just loitering about isn't an option."

Tir-Zen made a sound of assent. "It's a small, separate bar down near the pit. I . . . think everyone here is Tempest. Leave the com open, and I'll see what I can do."

"All right. You're doing excellently. Like you were born for this."

Obi-Wan and Aylee settled in to wait. The pit fights ended, and the castle's main hall flooded with patrons again, those flush on their winnings loud and lording it over the losers. Through the com, Obi-Wan could faintly hear the rest of the recruits being welcomed into the brotherhood. Tir-Zen didn't say much. He spoke when spoken to, which if anything probably served to construct an aura of mystery around him.

Quiet. Confident. Unapproachable. The perfect mercenary.

Obi-Wan paused with a glass to his lips, when he heard a chorus of scraping through the headphones, like chairs moving all at once. He frowned and tipped his head to the side, listening. Aylee speared him with her attention.

"Calm down, calm down. Just me!" Olen sang. "But good news! I spoke to Maz. And. There. Is. Another. Band! So, everybody pay your tabs. Get your shit. We're going back upstairs!"

Obi-Wan smiled at Aylee. "Seems the Force is with us," he said. He lifted his glass toward the stage and pointed one finger. "Encore performance. The Howling Tempest should be filing back in any moment."

She twisted to look at the stage as several humans strode onto it with their instruments and moved her chair a little to get a better view of the staircase that led up from the pit's bar. A mix of aliens and humans lumbered through, many with the same tattoo on their necks. They crowded the bar across where from Obi-Wan and Aylee sat and claimed clusters of tables, waving at the bartender to send waiters.

Tir-Zen moved among them, shaking hands with a Duros and Neimoidian as he claimed his place at the bar. He met their gazes each in turn and ordered himself something from the bar to occupy himself.

"Nice to see you again," Obi-Wan muttered.

Tir-Zen's only reply was to smile into his drink.

The band on the stage went through their sound checks and then struck up a tune that was energetic, melodic, and more jovial than the previous. They all waited, but they didn't have to wait long.

A Farghul emerged from the passageway to the pit bar and approached the assembled gang members, his tawny, fur-covered chest bare, showing off muscle, and his arms and hands flashing with adornments—a silver bracelet, a set of onyx rings, a silver armband wound around one bicep. His tall feline ears had silver loops linked with chains. The wrapped construction of his pants formed a half skirt that fluttered as he moved, evidence of its thin, fine weave. Silk, maybe. His tail curled with lazy, small motions from beneath the skirt wrap. An armed guard followed a pace away.

Mizzul. Had to be.

Tir-Zen watched him greeting the closest new the recruit, swiveling his ears at her, clutching her forearm instead of shaking her hand. He moved on quickly. Tir-Zen set his drink down and looked up to find himself already the object of Mizzul's attention.

"This must be Berzirk," Mizzul said in a low, smooth voice. "Olen keeps chattering about you." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Zirk, if you like." Tee bowed his head a little.

"I _do_ like. You were quick out there. Elegant. Surprisingly strong. I didn't think you could take Juko."

"You were watching."

Mizzul's tail lashed. "Of course! I chose the matches."

"Four arms to two didn't seem unfair?" Tir-Zen leaned an elbow against the bar, a picture of calm relaxation.

"Oh, it definitely did." The Farghul smiled and dropped his arms. "But sometimes I like to put people through the paces."

Tir-Zen smirked as Mizzul mirror his pose, checking his hip against the bar.

"He likes you, Tir-Zen," Obi-Wan said quietly smiling. It was almost unnecessary.

"You know what I love about Zabracks?" Mizzul's voice was a sultry purr.

"What?"

"They have one heart for ferocity, and one for tenderness. Most of us have to choose."

Tee narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders; Berzirk took a little offense. "Are you calling me soft?"

 _What's he saying?_ Aylee caught Obi-Wan's eye.

 _They're . . . flirting._

Her eyes widened, and she stared in their direction.

Mizzul's ears twitched. "I'm saying . . . that you checked in on Juko to see if he'd recover after gutting him like a wild boar."

Tee rolled his shoulders in a shrug and relaxed again. "He wasn't my enemy. Just my obstacle."

"You see?" Mizzul blinked slowly, his tail curved to a hook at the tip. "Exactly what I mean."

"What about you? What did you choose?" Tir-Zen picked up his tumbler and watched over his glass as he drank.

Mizzul chuckled. "I run a merc operation. What do you think?"

Tir-Zen gave him a thoughtful look and set his glass back down on the bar. "I think it depends on _how_ you run it. Like . . . revelry _before_ the danger. While your friends are still alive."

Mizzul dipped his chin and offered Tir-Zen a long look, while his tail swished up near his hip.

"Touché," he said eventually. Then put a clawed hand on Tir-Zen's upper arm. "I've got to welcome the other recruits." He moved a step closer, crowding into Tee's space. "You'll forgive me?" Softly.

Tir-Zen nodded once, and Mizzul turned from him. He was a step away, when Tee called after, straining his voice.

"You know, if this is _really_ a celebration, shouldn't there be at least one game of Sarlacc Balls?"

Mizzul's featured melted into a smile, and then he laughed. "I'm sure we can arrange it," he said.

Sarlacc Balls was played in teams, using a table constructed for the purpose. A triangle of pits was cut at either end, and holoprojectors randomly assigned the pits as Safe or Sarlacc. Players tossed the balls, earning either a point for a Safe or a shot for a Sarlacc.

Most players eschewed points and went for last man standing.

Tir-Zen arranged the teams.

"When you approach him, make sure you touch."

"Where?"

"Like he did you. On the arm."

Aylee arched an eyebrow, and Obi-Wan shrugged innocently. "We want him to say yes."

"You're teaching him to flirt?"

"I . . . might be?" He frowned little, and she snorted but didn't object.

Obi-Wan watched Tee approach Mizzul and touch his arm to get his attention. Tee pointed to the table, set up and ready to go, and the Tempest recruits all waved. A gracious leader could hardly refuse, and their game began.

Never play a Jedi in a game of Sarlacc Balls. Solid advice for any creature in the galaxy. They could cheat. _Did_ cheat, on a regular basis, and Tir-Zen was no exception. Rules stated that the ball must bounce at least once on the field between the pits, which left the plenty of opportunity for Force manipulation.

"Don't get cocky," Obi-Wan drawled under his breath, watching the game. "And remember to lose some. Berzirk's luck isn't _that_ good."

Tir-Zen rolled his shoulders without looking over and proceeded to adjust his score downward, just a little. Mizzul's team lost the first player to excess drink. He was deposited on the pillows by the hookah table, and the game went on. One from Berzirk's team. A _second_ from Berzirk's team. Mizzul had the waitress line the table with a mix of shots as he gave Tir-Zen a wicked smile.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows lifted at the quantity. "You should order some of that methanol gin. He's going to notice you're stone cold sober, soon."

Tee did so, being sure they were added to his end of the line, and the additional glasses came across as a challenge.

"Stake-outs are boring." Aylee dropped her head back and sagged in her chair. "How do you stand this?"

Obi-Wan turned to stare at her, trying not to laugh. "You catalog ancient books for a living."

"Yes. By reading them. We're just watching people drink!" She sighed and shook her head and started bouncing both knees while she stared at the ceiling.

Whether by luck or Force-assisted stratagem, the game came down to Mizzul and Tir-Zen. Tee had taken his methanol shots in quick succession, and Mizzul laughed, his gestures and taunts lacquered with liquor. He leaned against the table while he watched Tir-Zen throw another shot and wavered to stay standing when it was his turn.

"We can stop," Tir-Zen offered, mirroring Mizzul by propping himself on the table.

The Farghul scoffed. "I'm . . . not done yet." He pointed at Tir-Zen and then tossed the ball.

It bounced once and landed straight in a Sarlacc pit. Mizzul threw up his hands in a mock pained wail and reached for another glass. His fingers slipped on one, knocking it to the floor, and he cursed as he reached slowly for another, concentrating on picking it up properly. He knocked it back with too dramatic a motion and the gripped the table with one hand, the other outstretched to keep his balance.

"Oh . . . he looks done," Obi-Wan muttered.

"Mizzul."

Mizzul held up a finger in a gesture for patience. Tir-Zen stepped closer to him anyway and took the glass from his hand. Mizzul opened one eye at a time, frowning.

"I . . . think you win, Zirk," he muttered and laughed a little.

He let go of the table and tried to take a step, but he feet missed the floor somehow. Tir-Zen caught him, sliding an arm around Mizzul's waist. Mizzul's hooked an arm across Tir-Zen's shoulders and leaned into him.

"You smell nice," he muttered.

"Thank you."

"Leather and blood."

Obi-Wan bit his lip, smiling, as Tir-Zen cast him a distressed glance then.

"No accounting for taste," he told Tee calmly amused.

"I think you need to lie down," Tee said to Mizzul, and the Farghul chuckled as though horizontal sounded perfectly good to him.

Tee deposited him on the pillows surrounding the hookah table with the others and glanced up and around. He tapped Mizzul's forehead quickly.

"He's asleep," Tee whispered.

"Aylee!" Obi-Wan kept his voice low, but sharp. "How about a diversion?"

She sat up suddenly and saw Tee standing over a handful of sleeping Tempest, while the others at the table blew clouds of smoke. The band still played, and the waiters and waitresses scurried from table to table, just as busy as ever. Aylee lowered her chin and spread her fingers, and he felt something in the Force ripple.

Suddenly, Tir-Zen and Mizzul were gone.

"What—" Obi-Wan turned his head, scanning over where they'd been, where he _knew_ they were. But his eyes slid off, unable to retain the memory of them. _Diversion_ , indeed. "Not _me_ ," he hissed.

Her lips twitched. "Sorry." Sounding not at all sorry.

And just as suddenly Tee was there again, conspicuously waiting.

"Go, go! No one can see you." Obi-Wan said. "See what you can find. He must have _something_."

Tir-Zen hesitated until a waiter walked by without even glancing to see if he wanted anything, then started rifling through Mizzul's clothes, such as they were. He stood up quickly, holding a data crystal up for them to see.

"This is all he has on him. I-I don't have a way to check it."

Obi-Wan got up and tapped off the com, conscious that unlike Tir-Zen he could be seen. He glanced at Aylee. "How long can you keep that up?"

She shrugged. "How long do you need?"

He turned and headed for the hookah table. Tir-Zen stood still, waiting, and as Obi-Wan gave the smokers at the table a small wave and picked up an open mouthpiece, he held his free hand cupped up and open behind his back. Tee dropped the crystal in as Obi-Wan inhaled and then blew out a thin stream of smoke. He grimaced and set the mouthpiece back on the table with a sneer.

"Yep, still as bad as I remember," he said to no one in particular and then nodded as eyes turned his way. "You folks enjoy, though." He waved and sauntered away, pulling out his datapad as he crossed the castle floor. He stuck the crystal into a slot at the top and started flicking through files as they appeared. A contract dated a week ago caught his eye, and he opened it.

"The Howling Tempest are hereby granted sole rights to the exploration and excavation The Korriz Site (heretoafter, The Site) with the stipulation that the Endless Gem be handed over to the First Party on pain of death . . ." Obi-Wan read quickly, then copied the file to his datapad and closed it, with shaking fingers.

His heart thundered, and he almost missed hailing down a passing waitress.

"Pardon me, could you leave this on the hookah table?" He turned and pointed. "I think one of them dropped it." He added the small suggestion that she should do just as requested, no questions, and she smiled.

"Of course."

He turned for the table where Aylee sat watching and tapped on the com in his ear. "Tir-Zen, put the crystal back. Let's go."

He gave Aylee a look that got her standing, and they both watched in tense silence as the waitress dropped off the crystal, and Tee snuck it back where he found it. Two steps from the table, and Aylee let the Force power she'd been wielding drop. Obi-Wan turned on his heel and tried not to make a dash for the door. Aylee looped a hand around his elbow, slowing his pace, quickening his pulse. He didn't look back to see if Tir-Zen was following them.

They slipped out the front door of the castle into Takodana night, and Obi-Wan turned off the ear piece and pulled free of Aylee's grip, as he grabbed the comlink from his belt.

"Anakin."

"Here, master," Anakin whispered.

"We've got it. Get ready to go."

"I'm just . . . about done."

Obi-Wan frowned as he quickened his pace toward the landing pad. "Just about done with what? It's been hours."

"You're gonna love it."

"Anakin." His voice hardened.

"I _think_ you're gonna love it."

"What are you—"

"You should probably run."

Obi-Wan scowled and looked at Aylee.

And then the air concussed with an explosion and a fireball rising from the mass of ships.

Instinct made them duck.

Then, "Run!" Obi-Wan shouted.

They poured Force into their movements and blurred to the _Vesper_. Their feet pounded up the ramp with a metallic ring. Aylee stopped and turned. Obi-Wan charged for the cockpit, where Anakin had a rear-view display up. He flicked on the engines, and the ship rose with the ramp still down.

"Wait!" Aylee hollered.

Another boom thundered somewhere in the landing pad, and the screen turned briefly white with the flash.

"Anakin! You're blowing up their ships?"

Anakin tapped on a datapad in his lap. "I'm _disabling_ their _engines_."

Another set of footsteps thundered up the ramp, and someone hit the button to close the cargo bag.

"With explosives! That's—" He couldn't decide whether to be proud or outraged, and stood gaping in front of the co-pilot's seat.

"Brilliant," Aylee said, nudging him out of the way.

Lights came on around the castle as more fireballs tore through the ships on the landing pad, and people started pouring out of the bar to see what the noise meant. Anakin leaned over the controls and threw the lever for the hyperdrive, whipping them out of Takodana airspace while his surprises continued to surprise.


	22. The Outer Rim

**AYLEE**

Aylee paced the _Vesper_ 's lounge, her fingers moving with excess energy.

"Read it again."

Obi-Wan laughed. "I've read it twice, it's not going to change."

The Endless Gem of Tritos Nal. The _Endless Gem_ of Tritos Nal! It couldn't— It couldn't— It couldn't be possible, be real. Her heart raced at the thought—at the _words_.

Two quick steps in his directions and she had Obi-Wan's beautiful stupid face in her hands. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

"Nnno?" he hedged his answer.

"Ugh!" She scoffed, threw up her hands, and turned away to pace again. "Education! Tritros Nal was . . . an inventor, alchemist. Sorcerer, they called him. He"—she made a gesture with her hands like forming a ball—"imbued objects with the Force. He was a genius! A savant!"

"A Sith Lord?" Obi-Wan interjected.

Aylee flipped her wrist. "Yes. He used the Dark Side to do it. But objects themselves just contained power. Intention. Like—"

She didn't know how to put it into words. Her use of the Force was so different, her analogies a different metaphorical world.

"They are stones in the river all by themselves," she said, willing Ben to understand what that meant.

He frowned a little and tipped his head, casting a fleeting glance at Tir-Zen, who stood leaning against the cabinets. Tir-Zen was watching her, and his eyes narrowed in thought.

"And . . . the gem?" Obi-Wan asked.

Aylee's whole body surged and her hands flew up into the air. "The gem! The Endless Gem of Tritos Nal is . . . is a legend! It was said to have the power to bring back the dead." Her eyes widened as she smiled. "A resurrection stone!"

It was ridiculous, _of course_ , but what if it wasn't? She reached the wall, spun, headed back toward Ben.

"Did it work?" Obi-Wan asked, and Aylee's head jerked up.

She blinked. How could he not know the stories, the history of one of the Force's greatest minds? The absolute loss of his life cut short in the Great Hyperspace War. "No one knows!" she said, a little breathless. "No one in recorded history has ever _seen_ it." Her heart pounded hard and she rushed for him, taking his face in her palms again."We! Are going. To _see_ it!"

He laughed, taking her wrists in his hands. "One thing at a time."

He didn't know. He didn't _feel_ it. The possibilities. The future just beyond the door. She couldn't explain the shiver in the blood, the way it felt like flying. The urge to dance, so she slipped from his light grip and spun in little circles across the lounge, playing with the swish of her cloak.

Korriz. Why would the Gem be on Korriz? Why there? A charted world. The legends never said—

The legends never said—

She stopped midway through a spin, her cloak wrapping around her ankles and then settling with a shush. Aylee stared at nothing, slowly frowning. Something, something niggled. Something . . . was connecting.

"Master?" Tir-Zen rasped.

She shot up a hand for silence. Just a few more seconds of—

"The legends of Tritos Nal all talk about his workshop. This, this factory of wonders. But it's not on Korriz. The workshop . . . was on Zel'pah . . ." Her frown deepened and she tilted her head the other way.

"Okay . . ." Obi-Wan this time.

She turned to look at him. "There is no Zel'pah. There never was. Not a single Republic star chart has ever had a planet or a moon with that name." Her breath quickened.

"Aylee, I don't—"

"Not a single"—she brought two fingers together and gestured sharply at him—"Republic star chart. The legends are all Sith legends." She could feel the words building too quickly to be said and rushed to get them out. "Back from when the Sith were a people, not a religion. They were a race with customs and a language. And _star charts_."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, and he drifted closer. "You think Korriz is Zel'pah."

"I think . . . that the location of his workshop is unknown. And the location of the Gem is unknown. And we're going to find the Gem in an unknown Sith ruin." She smiled, and ecstatic tears touched her eyes. "I think this is his workshop. His _workshop_!" She clamped her hands over her nose and mouth as emotion flooded her throat closed.

She sucked in a breath trying to calm herself and shook out her hands, laughing despite herself. Despite it sounding a little mad. Obi-Wan watched in amused dismay as she swallowed down the laughing enough to speak.

"Tritos Nal's workshop! It's— It's the find of a lifetime. There could be more. More inventions we've never heard of. It could change galactic history!"

"It could get you a promotion," Obi-Wan said with a lopsided smile.

Aylee snorted. "It could get me a promotion," she echoed.

He grinned. "Perhaps we should find it before you start writing your speech?"

She flicked the comment aside, grinning back. "I'm already writing the speech."

It was too much. Too much glee, anticipation. Too much glow in the center of her chest and the rushing waters of the Force at her back. Because there—there, hope. Glistening and perfect. A future at her fingertips. And maybe Tee wouldn't have to—

She turned to look at him—a bruise on his cheek and cuts around his eye—and her heart broke free from her ribs.

"And you . . ." she said. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she swept closer to him, and Tir-Zen straightened. She brought her hands up under his jaw and met those fiery eyes. "You. Were. Tremendous," she said, her voice rough. She started to shake. "I am so . . . _proud_ . . ." Her throat closed over the last few words and ached with a pulse of emotion, and he nodded at all the things she couldn't say.

She struggled for control of herself and pulled the tears back. "Your first real solo mission—"

"I wasn't alone."

"We might have been watching, but you did everything. Things you never got training for." She drew her hands away. "You're going to be a better Jedi than I ever was."

Tir-Zen frowned. "That's _them_ talking," he said. Then a ghost of a smile touched his face. "But . . . I was pretty badass."

Aylee and Obi-Wan both chuckled at that, and Aylee patted Tir-Zen on the chest.

"Yes, you were."

Tir-Zen ducked his head. "I learned more than you think, Master."

Aylee felt her cheeks reddening as she turned to Obi-Wan. "Anakin's been quiet."

He hummed and gave the ladder to the cockpit a look. "Best we go find out." He took a few strides before calling, louder, "Anakin! How's the jump coming?"

They filed down into the cockpit after him and gathered in a small semi-circle behind the pilot's seat. Anakin's glanced up and around at their waiting faces.

"Almost done calculating. Korriz is . . . way out on the Outer Rim, Master. In Sith Space."

Aylee nodded. "It was part of the old Sith Worlds core, back when they were an empire. That sector of space was basically abandoned after the Great Hyperspace War. Anyone the Jedi didn't kill, they drove off. The Sith as a species ceased to be a power in the galaxy. Most of their homeworlds were decimated. Uninhabitable."

She could feel Obi-Wan's attention and glanced over at him. His expression held something she couldn't decipher.

"You make that sound like a bad thing," he said, with a tone more observant than accusatory.

"Ending a civilization . . ." She shrugged. "Just feels like there should be a better way. Maybe there wasn't. But it's a very final sort of solution. And . . . sad. That it had to come to that."

He nodded, thoughtful and quiet, and she waited for the argument to come. For the declaration that the Sith were an absolute evil. That their existence was nothing but a blight on an otherwise peaceful galaxy. That lamenting their eradication was tantamount to heresy. That there was nothing valuable to be learned from their remnants and a danger to the mind in entertaining any thoughts to the contrary.

But Ben remained silent, and she realized no such argument was coming. His gaze flickered to the space just over her shoulder, and she ducked instinctively as Anakin's new droid darted toward the viewport and hovered over the console.

"Master Anakin," QB2 said, accompanying its words with a rainbow of flashing lights. "I assisted the hyperdrive, and the calculations are complete. We may jump to hyperspace at any time."

A beaming smile split across Anakin's face. "That's awesome!" He turned to look at Obi-Wan for a reaction.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows reached for his scalp. "It's an astromech droid, too?"

The boy bounced in his seat. "I pulled the central processor from one of the decommissioned astromechs at the Temple. He doesn't have all the features. But he has some. And a bunch of boards from a protocol droid."

"That's . . . brilliant. Well done."

Anakin smiled at the little glowing orb. "How long is the jump, QB?"

"Eighteen hours, Master Anakin."

Ugh. Aylee scowled. "Well, get us going. Why don't you all sleep. I'll take first watch."

"Are you sure?" Ben asked.

She held up her hand to show her fingers practically vibrating. "There's no way I'll sleep. Trust me." Not with Tritos Nal's name rattling around her head, knocking loose biographies, children's stories, legends, famous artifacts crafted by his hand and their place in the history of the galaxy.

Her hands itched for her books, for her cache of borrowed holocrons.

Obi-Wan bowed his head and smiled a little, that small, secretive smile that made her heart skip, that she collected in a treasure box of memories.

"Okay, jumping to hyperspace," Anakin said.

They all held onto something out of habit, but the _Night Vesper_ 's engines powered and fired them into hyperspace like they were shot from a rail gun, smooth and swift, leaving the galaxy outside a blur.

Without the holocrons, Aylee had to be content with what she could access from the Archive's regular files. There were several definitive _The Life of Tritos Nal_ to choose from. She selected the oldest one and read until her eyes ached. The _Vesper_ 's automatic systems had transitioned the lights to night mode, so she sat in the pilot's seat with her feet up on the copilot's chair reading by the light of the viewport. There hadn't been a sound from the upper deck since everyone had retired for some well-earned sleep.

Especially well-earned in Tir-Zen's case. He took a few more bacta pills without protest, and she hoped by morning the cuts would be closed.

She stretched and checked the time. Five hours. They hadn't even left the Inner Rim, yet, and she could barely keep her eyes open. Tritos Nal biography or not. She got up. Made some caf. Wandered around the lounge. Went through a series of katas in the cargo bay. Started a holonovel. Switched to the biography again. Listened to a chapter of an audionovel in Duro.

Six hours.

She sighed and picked up a datapad.

 _"Delegates of the Galactic Historical Symposium . . ."_

 _"Ladies, gentlemen, esteemed colleagues of the Galactic Historical Symposium . . ."_

 _"Friends, esteemed colleagues, delegates of the symposium, is it a tremendous honor to speak to you tonight . . ."_

Twelve hours into the trip, the _Vesper_ passed into the Outer Rim. Everyone else had gotten up, while Aylee folded herself onto her bunk and imagined sleeping. Even with the room dark, her body wasn't convinced. So she laid back and closed her eyes, and concentrated on her breathing. Meditation, if nothing else, would be relaxing and restorative. Experience suggested that if one meditated intending not to fall asleep, there was a high likelihood of dozing right off. But only if you really weren't trying. Only if you came at it sideways.

After the attention to her breathing, she let the feeling of the Force come to the fore. It first it flowed with the familiar, gentle sensation of movement over the backs of her arms, her shoulders, the backs of her legs. Laying down, her metaphor naturally became floating on the river, buoyed by it.

She felt her arms, weightless. Her legs supported. The cool, steady motion letting her bob. Letting her drift.

So . . .

nice.

She tripped. _Fell._ Gasped! Heart-pounding.

That sudden sensation of falling, the jerking reflex to catch yourself.

Aylee startled awake, and for a moment thought it was just that. Just the human animal and the falling dream, but her senses were still open to the Force, and it churned against her skin, like water over a bed of stones. She brushed a hand up her arm trying to feel it more. Trying to wipe the sensation away. The Force felt choppy. Broken. Wrong.

Foreboding swept up her spine, and there was no longer any point in pretending she might sleep. She flicked on the lights and got dressed quickly. When she stepped out into the lounge, she found Ben just reaching the top of the ladder. He looked huddled, small. He approached with his arms wrapped around himself and distress pulling at his features.

"What's wrong?" Aylee asked, meeting him halfway.

He shivered, and his teeth practically rattled. "You don't . . . feel that?"

She frowned, and he squinted his eyes shut in sudden pain.

"It's so cold," he said. "Maybe life support's broken. I thought I'd come wake you."

The Force splashed in the wrong direction, and Aylee felt it pulling at her legs. Numbing her toes. Obi-Wan frowned and grimaced, grunting in pain. Aylee pressed her palm to his cheek, and his eyes drifted open.

"It's not life support."

"Then why am I freezing?" he asked, his jaw juddering.

He looked like he needed a blanket, a fire, and warm drink. Two of those they could manage. Aylee directed him to one of the seats along the wall and fetched a spare blanket from their quarters. She settled it around him and stood before the kitchenette to make some tea. Physical warmth might not help. But the psychology of it, maybe.

She let the question linger while she poured, steeped, and poured again. When she brought him the cup, he reached shaky fingers from under the edges of the blanket to take it and wrapped both hands around.

"We're in Sith space, aren't we," she said.

Ben glanced up from his contemplation of the rising steam. "I think so," he breathed.

Aylee slid onto the seat beside him, leaning in as he leaned. "That's what it is, I think. The Dark Side. It left a residue here."

"Like on Takodana." He sipped his tea carefully.

"Like on Takodana. Except there was a war out here. Both sides throwing the Force around in ways I'm not sure I can appreciate."

Obi-Wan shivered, and Aylee felt it against her side. Worry coiled in her gut as he pulled the edge of the blanket down away from his face and peeked over it. He looked young. And miserable. And she could have stared into those blue eyes forever.

"How come you're not cold?" he asked, innocent curiosity in his expression.

She dropped her gaze to the floor and flexed her hands. Pins bit into the tips of her fingers. "I can feel the cold, in places. I just . . . I feel something else."

"What?"

"Choppiness. Unevenness." She shook her head, not finding the right words. "Like someone warped the Force out here into something I don't recognize. It can't . . . find where to go. Turns back on itself." She sighed. "I know that doesn't make any sense. It just . . . it just feels ravaged."

Obi-Wan frowned down into his tea and then drank a little more. "I think I might be glad I don't feel that."

She smiled weakly and nudged him. "I'm not sure this is better."

"I'm fine."

Aylee laughed. "Oh, sure," she agreed, nodding. "You only look like you've got Balmorra flu."

He nudged her back with his knee. "I'm getting acclimated."

She grinned. "Does the blanket help?"

"No."

"Want me to put it back?"

"No." He finished his tea and got up, shuffling to the kitchenette and dragging the blanket with him.

Aylee's cheeks ached from grinning. "You know, if the four of us meditate, we might be able to get a bit more Light Side energy moving around here. It could make you feel better."

He nodded as he poured hot water into a little teapot. "Anything." He shivered, splashing a little water on the counter and snuffling like he really _did_ have the flu. "Whatever you suggest."

Overall, Aylee felt cold in her extremities and a vague sense of nausea. She moved carefully to the ladder and climbed down to find the padawans in similar states to their respective masters. If anything, Anakin was actually worse, his greater power and sensitivity giving him a dose of both the Dark Side and the calamity of the war. Aylee found him in the co-pilot's seat with his knees drawn to his chest. He shook his head over and over. Tear tracks glistened on his cheeks.

Aylee glanced at Tir-Zen, a reprimand at the ready, but he was bent over the console, gripping his skull like he was holding it together. She let the words fall to ashes and focused on Anakin instead.

"They won't . . . stop," he said in a weak voice, shuddering.

Aylee knelt, frowning. "What won't?"

Anakin sniffed. "The voices."

The chill of a knife blade traced down Aylee's spine. "What voices?" she asked delicately.

"I don't know!" Anakin's face crumpled, getting redder. "I don't understand. I don't know what they're saying!"

"It's okay . . ." She touched his hair and swallowed a lump in her throat.

The cataclysm wrought in this space must have been beyond measure. Five millennia later and the impressions of the lives destroyed still lingered. Ash marks blasted onto a wall.

"They're so angry . . ." Anakin whispered, blinking out a few more tears.

Aylee's heart hurt to watch him. She extended a hand. "Come on. We're going to try something to make everyone feel better. Tir-Zen, you too."

Anakin let himself be pulled from the chair and to the ladder, though he had to climb for himself. Obi-Wan lifted his head as they filed up, and he marked Anakin's state without comment. Tee kept a hand extended toward the wall, like he might fall over at any second.

Aylee pulled cushions off the side benches with a swipe of her hand, using the Force, bending it despite its fractured state. It took more effort than it should have. Annoyance heated behind her breastbone as she set them down at the points of a cross and beckoned everyone else to sit. They stumbled, dropped, and found their places. Aylee settled herself and stretched the aches in her fingers.

"We're going to try a group meditation called the Fountain of Light," she said, modulating her tone to something smooth and warm. "It's a visualization. First, let's center our breathing.

"In . . .

"Then out . . .

"In, take in the chaos . . .

"Out, gift out the harmony.

"In, you are here in this moment . . .

"Out, you live for this moment.

"When you breath in, I want you to imagine a glowing column of light shining down on the top of your head. It's the bright light of a warm day. It fills you up as you breathe." Aylee reached out her hands to each side, one toward Ben, one toward Tee. "Link hands." Everyone did. "Exhale the light to your left. Pass it along. The goodness. The safety. You are passing a gift. You are getting a gift. Inhale and picture the glow flowing into you. Receive with gratitude. Give with gratitude. The light is the Force. Coming in . . . inhale . . . flowing out with loving kindness."

They breathed as a unit, moving energies. If Aylee didn't mention it was her job to add to the energies, pulling in from the outside to help it snowball. Well. She was leading. And in better shape than the rest of them anyway. Master Belami's techniques weren't all self-enlightenment.

She lost track of time, and only noticed the sensation of chill having shifted when her fingers started to slide on Ben's skin, his hands gone sweaty and hot.

"How are you all feeling?" she asked, keeping in time with the measured breaths.

"Better."

"Quiet."

"Warm."

Aylee bowed her head and opened her eyes. "You can open your eyes. Release your hands," she said.

And they all blinked at one another.

"That was cool," Anakin said, grinning. "Like a Force motor!"

Aylee cut a sidelong glance at Tir-Zen and he nodded, shrugging, with a look that said it wasn't a wrong analogy.

"Well," Aylee rocked up to standing. "I don't know how long the effect will last. But at least we know it works. And"—she looked at the cabin wall, thinking of the space beyond—"maybe we made a bit of difference as we came through."

Untangling the tangled weft of the Force in this sector of space could only be a good thing, in the end.

Anakin flopped onto his back off the cushion and turned his head toward the cockpit. "QB!"

The little droid floated up the shaft, glowing with an orange light. "Master Anakin?"

"How long until Korriz?"

"Four hours approximately."

Anakin sighed and thunked his head against the carpeted floor. Obi-Wan returned the cushions to their proper places and rolled his eyes.

"Don't be dramatic. We'll eat, we'll do a little training, and we'll be there."


	23. Korriz

**AYLEE**

Korriz didn't look much like a dead planet.

The _Night Vesper_ 's orbit brought them whipping around the planet's circumference several times an hour. And for a place buried in the heart of the Sith World Core, abandoned for eons, once the home of the most hated race in the galaxy and blah blah fire and brimstone, it looked . . . pleasant. Lush, even.

"I thought these plants were all decimated," Obi-Wan said, examining the image of Korriz in the viewport and the readings from the scans running up the screen beside.

"When anyone was out here bothering to look, they were." Aylee shrugged. "I guess a lot can change in a couple thousand years."

The warp in the Force had changed as they got closer to the planet. It smoothed to something more recognizable, and Aylee took that mean the worst parts of the war had never come to this particular place. Korriz was tiny as planets go. Seed the atmosphere with something inhospitable, and you ruin the planet without any need for Force intervention. It would be the least of what the Jedi of old had done. At least one Sith planet had been the victim of an asteroid strike—the combined effort of hundreds, if not thousands, of Jedi pushing together and shifting the natural trajectory of a miles-thick chunk of rock.

If one wanted to know how to warp the Force on a permanent basis, tactics like that were a place to start. And that from the heroes of the story.

"The sensor probe says the air is breathable. Normal surface temperatures," Obi-Wan said, still looking at the screen. "So we're safe to land. But that does raise the question of where."

He turned, and Aylee felt all attention suddenly on her.

"I—well it's not like there's a map," she said, gesturing at the image of the planet below. She frowned and paced back into the ship. _If I were a workshop where would I be . . ._ "Tritos Nal made all of his creations in that workshop," she said, just thinking out loud. "Which means he was using a lot of Force power in the same location. A lot of Dark Side Force power."

"A residue signature," Obi-Wan offered, and Aylee turned to look at him.

"I think? Should be. If we could feel it, that should lead us to at least the right area."

"I can do it," Anakin said from the pilot's seat.

Aylee's gaze flickered between the back of the chair and Obi-Wan's face. Anakin had said it with the simple weight of a declaration. _Do or do not, there is no try._ Obi-Wan looked steadily at his padawan.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes. You want the place that feels like the Dark Side the strongest, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I can find it."

Such confidence in one so young. And something in his voice . . . Something grim. Aylee moved back toward the cockpit, and Obi-Wan cut her a look that held a question. Did she believe? She shrugged. _Do you?_

Obi-Wan sucked a breath and let it out in a sigh. "All right. Then, take us in."

Aylee watched Anakin's reflection in the viewport. Often, he looked pleased when he was given the freedom to act. When he had his master's confidence. The line between his brows did not look pleased now.

He looked troubled, but he shut his eyes and guided the _Night Vesper_ out of orbit. He moved them close enough to the surface to discern features: rivers, vegetation, arid zones. But he never let up speed. The _Night Vesper_ screamed through the atmosphere in a search pattern.

And Anakin flew with his eyes closed.

It was, honestly, terrifying. Moreso when various lights around the console started to blink red and blare warnings.

"Anakin!"

Anakin's eyes popped open, and he slowed the ship. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I needed to narrow it down."

Obi-Wan scowled as he brought up the ship's systems monitor. "And? Did you?" he growled.

The monitor still showed the ship's exterior as above optimal temperature, but it was slowly falling.

Anakin turned a map of the planet's surface around on the viewport, marked a spot, and zoomed in. He brought the _Vesper_ about.

"Yes," he said, then dropped his voice. "I didn't mean to worry you, Master."

"I'm not—" Obi-Wan cut himself off. Paused. Sighed. "Just don't blow up the ship, that's all."

"I'm _on_ the ship."

"Well"—Obi-Wan swiveled the co-pilot's seat to face forward—"all the more reason not to blow it up."

Anakin rolled his eyes so much it must have hurt, and Aylee bit down a smile.

He flew like he knew where he was going. A few course adjustments here and there, but otherwise swift and true, passing over blue grasslands that sloped up into a red forest where the trees had globes where leaves might be. The jagged teeth of a mountain range grew on the horizon with three main peaks, one dented and curved, like part of the top had been carved off.

As the mountains filled more and more of the viewport, Anakin angled the _Vesper_ toward that one.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "I don't mean to be alarmist, but that particular mountain appears to be an active volcano."

"That's where the concentration is," Anakin replied, sounding tired.

Aylee put her hands on the backs of their chairs, peering at the image on the screen. "That makes sense, actually."

"It does?"

"Sure. Geothermal heat like that could provide a lot of power. Easy to build a forge in. Depending on what he was doing, a lot of elements would be readily available in the rock or noxious gases." She shrugged. "Yeah. That could make a lot of sense."

Ben sighed and rubbed at his beard. "Wonderful."

The red bobble forest gave way to a parti-color mix of thick vegetation that clung up the mountain slopes almost halfway. As the ship slowed and Anakin stared ahead in tense concentration, it became clearer what they were seeing. Orange and yellow-leafed trees with branches like twisting fingers stitched together with green, leafy vines. The canopy was effectively a solid mass, a net with no obvious gaps.

Anakin slowed the ship to a stop well below the vegetation line, and they hovered above the trees. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. Aylee opened her senses, too, and the boy was right. The Dark Side lay thick here. She could feel it in an itch on her fingertips. Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders, scowling. And Tee's brow pinched, his lips pressed to a hard line.

"I-I can't get more exact than this," Anakin whispered. He opened his eyes and chewed on his lower lip. "It's coming from here." He pointed to the slope of the mountainside ahead of them. "From in there. And see those?" He tapped on dark spots on the image, bringing up sensor readings. "Defensive guns."

Aylee nodded. "Then let's set down."

Anakin tipped his head back to look up at her. "Where?"

"There's no empty ground," Obi-Wan added.

She shook her head at them both. "Then we'll make some," she said, as though this were obvious.

Their confused silence followed her as she marched to the cargo bay with Tir-Zen close at her side. She hit the button for the bay door and braced for a rush of wind as the seal on the ship broke. Korriz smelled like autumn leaves. A bit of sweet decay and earthiness.

She set her feet slightly apart and waited for the door to be fully down, giving her the best view. Tir-Zen hooked one hand through an overhead bar and the other into her belt.

Aylee turned with an indignant look.

"I'm not going to jump!"

"I— Safety, master."

She snorted and turned back to the canopy below. She set her feet wider still, getting a solid stance, and then opened her senses to the Force. Oh . . . it _was_ different here. The life all around still generated Living Force, pumping it into being, into a river of motion. But that river _raced_. Some are wide and slow and relatively calm. Some are deep and fast.

Ice cold swept across her legs with staggering speed, and despite the grip of her boots against the cargo bay floor, her footing felt loose, her balance slightly off. Any moment the river might carry the sand beneath her feet away and take her with in.

Aylee gasped and staggered for real.

"Master!" Tir-Zen hissed and tugged her back.

"I'm all right!" She held her hands up, balancing. The Dark Side could be managed.

Water was still water.

She imagined her feet sinking into the riverbed, the water climbing higher, but her footing more stable. Her hands moved through a pattern as familiar as breathing, pressing Force out, calling it back, letting it flow between the motions of her moving hands.

Life pulsed below the ship, and she felt its shape. Sent Force downward, restraining its desire to rush too fast, too hard. She pulled at the tangle, easing at first. Lifted the vines aside, nudging them to new homes.

A hole opened in the canopy and they could see to the ground. Still not enough space for the ship to land. She had hoped. But some things could not be avoided.

Aylee shifted her weight from one foot to the other and let power stream down her arm.

Tree trunks cracked like slow thunder and hurled to all sides, toppling their companions, carving a path.

"There's enough space now! Hold there!" Obi-Wan's voice rang from the cockpit.

She stilled, letting the Force flow, holding the canopy aside like a drape.

Anakin lowered the _Night Vesper_ down without a branch scrape against the hull, and as the cargo bay door touched earth, Aylee squeezed off the flow of power and allowed the trees to snap back, save the hole the fallen ones left. She gave herself a minute, staring out at the tall, dark trunks, to warm again, to find the strength in her muscles to relax them into motion. Tir-Zen shifted his hand from her belt to her shoulder.

"I don't like it here," he rasped.

She nodded out at the daytime darkness. "Yeah."

They gathered at the foot of the ramp, surveying the Korriz forest. The trees stretched tall and straight to the canopy, with few branches. Brown, crisp layers of leaves crackled underfoot. There was barely any undergrowth. Too little light filtered down. The lumps of fall tree trunks sprouted purple spindles that might have been a moss, maybe a fungus.

Nothing made a sound.

Perhaps the landing of the ship had scared everything into protective silence. Perhaps there was nothing _to_ make sounds. Despite the racket she'd made felling trees, Aylee found herself loathe to break the hush with human speech. As though millennia of stillness from sentient intervention had sanctified it somehow.

Anakin's droid, QB2, pulsed its way out into the forest, then halted. It hovered head-height above the ground, and all of its lights turned white. It spun, clicking, in a full circle, a little shutter flickering on one of its lenses. It flew back and lowered itself to Anakin's height. The little droid was the first to speak.

"Master Anakin. I have documented this occasion. Should I come with you to document your journey?"

Aylee looked at Anakin, who looked at Obi-Wan. Proper documentation _would_ be nice. Images of everything in situ. Holoscans to recreate the locations later. Obi-Wan turned and looked back at the ship, stroking at his beard.

"Honestly, I prefer QB stay with the ship. The Howling Tempest might not be as disabled as we think. Something should keep an eye out for visitors."

Anakin nodded in approval. "You heard him, QB."

"Yes, Master Anakin." The little droid spun itself and flashed green. "I will monitor long range sensors and coms." It floated back up the ramp into the cargo bay.

Obi-Wan called over his shoulder after it, "Close the door!" And a second later the ramp started to ascend.

Aylee faced the sloping brown mountainside in thought.

"Well. It's only a whole mountain face," Obi-Wan said, surveying the same dark forest. "Anyone have any bright ideas?"

"Actually . . ." Aylee folded her hands in front of herself and bowed her head. "I want to have a look."

She didn't wait for confirmation. She braced this time, imagining her feet sinking as she opened her senses to the Force. The sense of life sprang all around, the canopy overhead, the tree trunks strong and thrumming. It made a blanket.

No.

A tapestry. Threads woven in a pattern of chaos as old growths fell and new ones rose. Complete. She reached further, seeking a pattern that broke the chaos. Something regular. Something that did not happen by nature.

She felt, off to the right . . . such a something. Something straight. A gap. She opened her eyes and looked in that direction, though there was nothing to see but a leaf-strewn forest floor.

"I think . . . we should go this way first."

"Not up the mountain?" Tir-Zen asked.

She frowned, not knowing the right words. "No. It's—something this way isn't right."

"Land on a Sith planet. Head toward the bad feeling. We really _are_ Jedi," Obi-Wan said, starting off in the direction she'd indicated.

Aylee followed, then Anakin, then Tir-Zen.

Distance didn't work the same in the Force, if it could be said to work at all. Aylee had no idea how far off the wrongness was, how many kilometers her senses had followed the threads and motion of life. Just as the Force did not abide mass and weight, it did not take an interest in depth. Speak across the bond from a meter away. Or a light-year. Same difference.

So every time Ben asked, "Is it close?" the only thing she could tell him was "I don't know." They weren't there yet. For almost an hour, they walked, their footsteps crunching slightly.

Obi-Wan turned around, pacing backwards.

"Awfully quiet here," he said.

Aylee offered a playful scowl. "Didn't your master ever tell you not to say things like that?"

He grinned. "All the time. Usually, right before something terrible happened."

"So you're saying it now because . . ."

"I thought it might speed things along." He winked. "Really, though." He hadn't turned back around. "What are we even looking for?"

"I don't know. A"—Aylee shrugged helplessly—"break in the pattern. Something that doesn't—"

Ben flailed suddenly, arms pinwheeling, and fell flat on his ass.

Aylee stopped, her mouth still forming a word, and stared at him. It was the singularly most graceless thing she'd ever seen him do, and she couldn't help but laugh a little. He flopped back, pointedly ignoring her laugher.

"Are you okay?" she asked, with a goading tone.

He sat up, scowling, pressing his hands to the ground as he did so.

"All of me but my pride," he grumbled, then glanced down at one of his hands.

"What?"

He felt around then swept at foot around the rock he'd tripped over. He cleared away a patch of dead leaves to reveal not a rock, but a line of rocks—a line of bricks. His eyebrows lifted, and he looked up at her, grinning.

"How about a road?"

A quick Force push cleared the debris and revealed, if not a road, at least a path. Laid bricks or stones, still roughly in the same shape as the day they were formed. Mostly straight. Mostly square. And leading mostly in a straight line.

Pride and pleasure circled around Aylee's chest. Excitement raised the hairs on her arms. A path to the workshop! There was no other place it could reasonably go. The padawans took turns throwing blast of Force to sweep the path walkway clean. And see who could throw the leaves the farthest.

The hike got steeper.

The trees got shorter.

Aylee's legs burned from the constant uphill climb, and she breathed heavy and deep into hot lungs. This was what a life in a library wrought. Obi-Wan barely seemed to feel it, and she couldn't decide whether to admire it or envy it. He caught her sidelong looks and inclined his head.

She scowled and opened herself to the Force, letting small runnels make their way into her muscles. The fortifying power cooled the aches. It was just a fraction of what she'd used in the catacombs, and an effort not to let the power crash like it wanted. It would be a waste to burn out from exhaustion here.

And for the sake of pride.

The path eventually stopped climbing and burrowed inward. A cave. Difficult to tell whether it was natural or made, but it was . . . rather large. Large even by Loxan standards. Aylee and Obi-Wan drew their lightsabers and slowed their pace as they neared the edge of the shadow of the cave. Nothing to see but darkness.

Aylee peered up at the canopy, trying to gauge the location of the sun. She pulled out her comlink.

"QB, are you there?"

"Yes, Master Desai."

"Mark the location of my com on the ship's map."

"Done."

"As long as you get a signal, keep track of my com's progress."

"Are we drawing a map, Master?"

Her mouth turned up at the corner. "We're going to try."

Obi-Wan's lightsaber split the air with a twang as he ignited it, and Aylee tucked her comlink away. She followed suit, and a second later both padawans behind them did as well. They spread out in a line and held the glowing lights overhead.

Aylee stepped first.

The darkness swallowed the small auras around their lightsabers, and for many meters, the only thing they could see was the ground a few steps ahead of them. No ceiling. No walls. Just the golden glow of Aylee's saber flanked by blues and greens.

Light fell, eventually, on a flat slab of rock, and they all slowed to a stop. Aylee held her saber higher and then let it go, lifting it effortlessly to skim the shape of the wall. Relief carvings in the surface emerged with a dance of shadows, and Obi-Wan explored the expanse of the sheer flat surface—no natural creation. He found the joint where the wall met the rough, virgin stone of the cave. Tir-Zen found the other side.

Fifty meters across, more or less.

Aylee's lightsaber became a thin line as it drifted upwards, then sparked against the ceiling. The wall looked flat and crafted all the way to the top. She dropped the light back down, slowly, and paused when it caught on one of the carvings.

It looked like words.

She tipped her head as her breathing quickened.

Moved the lightsaber slowly to the right until she reached the end of the carved text. Then back. She dropped it down and scanned some more.

"What's it say?"

Aylee jumped at Ben's voice so close to her ear. She hadn't heard him coming. Hadn't been listening.

"Uh . . . Roughly? It says Sith Only, Fuck Off."

Ben leveled her a desert dry look, made worse by the cool light cast across his face.

"What?" she asked.

"Fuck off," he said, dripping skepticism.

She clicked her tongue and gazed back upward, moving the light across the second row of text. "Death . . . awaits . . ." She squinted. "The . . . dog."

"Uhh . . ."

Aylee frowned and shifted the light around. "The . . ." Inspiration struck. "Weak! The weak. Death awaits the weak," she said and shrugged apologetically. It was a dead language in a script she rarely saw, carved into a mountain. "Sorry, I stopped the first time after 'Death awaits.' That seemed to cover it."

"Death awaits the weak. Very catchy," Obi-Wan said. He paced to the wall and illuminated everything within a normal person's reach. Decorative carvings, mostly. People in robes.

Anakin joined him. "So, this is a door?"

Aylee called her lightsaber to her hand, becoming visible to her companions again. "It has to be. That path led us here. Why build a path to an empty room with a Keep Out sign in it?"

Anakin reached out with a hand.

"Wait! Don't—" Obi-Wan started to say.

Anakin's fingertips touched the stone.

"—touch it," Obi-Wan finished, with a sigh.

"What?" Anakin shrugged at him. "It's a door."

"It's a Sith door! What if it was . . . poisoned or something."

Anakin made a face Aylee could feel on her own features.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can you please _not_ touch everything inside the potentially deadly Sith ruins?" he asked, belaboring his words.

Anakin's shoulders rose and fell. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan looked at the wall and put his hand on it, and for just a second Anakin looked like he was going to complain.

Aylee stared at the small section of illuminated wall and watched Tee's little bubble of light trace up and down the edge of the carved surface.

Death awaits the weak.

"It's an odd warning, isn't it?" she said out loud.

Ben glanced over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why _not_ just 'death awaits'? Why be specific?"

Obi-Wan tipped his head back, looking up. "Sith Only," he said. "The strong survive."

The wheels in Aylee's mind spun. The strong. The strong. What would Sith call strong? "Force users," she whispered and tilted her head the other way, picturing the shape and size they had marked out as the edges.

"What was that?" Ben called.

"Force users," she said again, louder. "If only Sith can enter, and Sith are all force users . . ."

Obi-Wan backed up a step, holding his saber high. "Then the door requires the Force to open."

"And not just a little bit." A piece clicked. "A lot. The _strong_." Aylee strode forward to meet them. "Tee!" She waved her lightsaber like she was reeling him in, and he trotted over in a buzz of motion.

"All right." Obi-Wan nodded, peering at the door. "I'll buy that. But how? What? Push it?"

Tir-Zen shook his head. "Lift it."

Anakin's jaw dropped, and he spun around. "Lift _that_?"

"We're inside a mountain," Tee said. "Which means there's rock above us."

"And it's harder," Aylee added, eyeing the wall. "Death awaits the weak." She imagined rusty stains along the bottom of the slab of rock. "Lose your concentration. Run out of power . . ."

"Gravity does the rest," Obi-Wan finished the thought, his voice somber.

"All right." Aylee stretched her shoulders and felt a cool prickle in her fingertips.

She took a wide stance and braced herself against the icy feel of the Force. It came crashing. Ravaging. An angry river trying to knock her down. Swallow her whole.

Breathe . . . like always.

She was a stone in the river. An obstacle to its flow. A will it could not bend.

Her limbs moved through practiced motions, small meditations all their own, shaping the energy. The Force struggled with unruly riptides, and she cast it out toward the door. Found the edges. Found the bottom. Braced. Lifted, while the river lashed.

The wall ground, stone on stone, and a sliver of light shone from underneath.

She shifted her weight, sent the power surging again. Found a stance to give it form and held against the cataract rush.

Waist height.

Concentrate.

Shoulder height.

She opened her eyes to watch the progress. Two meters. Three.

Gravity pulled. And while the Force did not deal with mass in the logic of physics, it held to a logic of its own all the same. A contest of powers and wills and belief and strength that defied a normal calculus.

Aylee could hold the wall this high, for a time.

"Okay," she breathed, her fingers on both hands spread and clawed. "I'd hurry."

Obi-Wan gestured for the padawans to wait and darted through first, blurring with a burst of speed. He turned, his mouth agape.

"That door is two meters thick," he said, then waved them on. "Hurry!"

Anakin darted next, then Tee, leaving Aylee alone in the darkness of the cave. She didn't think she could manage both supported the door and focusing the power to blur beneath it. Not with the Force as unfamiliar and unpredictable as it was in this place.

She started forward slowly instead, concentrating more on the feel of the Force across her senses. Maintaining the grip. The lift. A sustained hold was _so much_ harder than a push or a burst under normal circumstances. Worse now.

Sweat broke out on her forehead as she passed under the bulk of the door. Felt it looming. Gravity's fight to bring it smashing down. She glanced up, despite herself, looking for the discoloration of blood. Couldn't tell. That was probably better. Her arms started to shake from holding the current in place, but she stepped. Stepped. Stared into Ben's eyes and moved toward him with steady paces.

He waited. Patiently. Unalarmed. His eyes smiled at the edges. Such a minor thing, but one of her favorites.

And then she stood in front of him, trembling with effort.

"Showoff," he said, the smile spreading.

She relaxed all at once, and a second later the door slammed shut with a blast of dust and a concussive shockwave that caught Aylee off guard. She might have stumbled forward in surprise and reflex. Ben might've caught her and let her pant against his shoulder while the dust settled and she recovered. He stroked her hair. And for a minute she forgot to be curious about anything at all.

Then, quietly, "Shall we have a look around?"

Aylee lifted her head from his shoulder, heart still pounding, and offered a shy, apologetic smile before stepping away. His hands lingered, though. It made her heart skip, and she stared at him. Wondering. Puzzled.

It was his turn for the shy smile as he let go and shifted his attention to their new surroundings.

Aylee watched him a moment longer, indulging in the yearning. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She shut her eyes and breathed. Then turned to find Tir-Zen.

 **OBI-WAN**

Obi-Wan flexed his hands, still resonating with the sensation of the silk of her hair. The heat of her fingers. His ribcage was too small. Pulse too rapid. Even when he turned away she was still there, a shining presence like sun across the ocean.

He focused on the ruins.

On the fact that they could _see_ the ruins at all.

Sconces lined the walls holding glowing cut crystal.

"This place still has power," he said, awed by the thought. Thousands of years, and it was still running.

Aylee ran her hand along a polished wall. "If it's all geothermal, it could run indefinitely. Until the volcano goes dormant or the planet dies."

Both walls were straight and polished, inlaid with lines of gold that every few meters broke into a pattern that looked decorative. Obi-Wan pointed to one.

"Do these mean anything?" he asked.

His companions gathered around, and Aylee reached out to touch it.

"I thought we weren't supposed to touch anything," Anakin whispered, pointedly loud.

She paused and looked at him, chastised.

"That's probably a good idea. But"—she lowered her voice—"I'm a bit of a rebel."

She touched the metal design anyway, and Anakin turned a smug look Obi-Wan's way when nothing happened.

"It's Tritos Nal's crest," Aylee said, tracing the pattern. She stepped back to get a fuller view. "Different from what was in the book. More . . ." She rolled her fingers through the air.

"Ostentatious?" Obi-Wan offered.

She made a sound of agreement and turned to Tir-Zen, digging through his satchel for a datapad. They all waited, studying the walls and the shadows while she made a sketch.

"What made you think ostentatious?" she asked as she drew.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Inlaying your name in gold inside your own workshop? I figured if you're going to show off that much, why stop there? Sith aren't exactly known for their humility."

Aylee hummed in reply as she finished. "Neither are most Jedi, if you think about it."

Obi-Wan frowned at her, stung. Unsure if she meant it as a personal insult. It took an extra second to realize that it could only be personal if _he_ was a Jedi and _she_ wasn't, and that the assumption, the division had come as quickly to his mind as it seemed to come to Master Windu's.

Aylee caught his guilty scowl. "I mean . . . there are plenty of stories about singular heroes. Saving the Republic. Saving a planet. Their names remembered for thousands of years. Those tales used to increase the Republic and Temple's influence . . ."

"Master Yoda asked us to show off at the festival," Anakin added.

She gestured to him. "See? We just do it differently, that's all."

 _We._

The guilt burrowed a little deeper under his skin. But he'd caught himself. Noted the thought. And placed it purposefully aside. You could be both. Different and part of the whole. _Chaos yet harmony._

They turned toward the length of the corridor, and started down, Aylee in the lead. The hallway opened onto a chamber of odd dimensions. It was perhaps a hundred meters square, but several hundred meters high. A lit ledge shone at the top, drawing the eye. Obi-Wan glanced at the wall to his left. The line of inlaid gold continued from the hallway and glittered faintly from the sconce light. He followed the line to the corner, to the left wall, and stepped back as it broke off in multiple directions, outlining the shape of a standard door.

He turned, ready to announce it, and saw more lines inlaid in the dark stone forming rectangles on the surface. Every wall had some at various heights from the ground. Tir-Zen had his hand pressed to one.

"Oh! I know!" Anakin bounced in place, then threw his hand out toward one of the rectangles above his head.

A block of stone slid out from the wall.

A sound from behind caught Obi-Wan's attention, and he turned to see the door sliding open, revealing a dimly lit room. Without a thought, he stepped inside for a look. A crystal light glowed in the low ceiling, and the walls and floor were different from the corridors outside, made of evenly laid stones, like masonry. There was no immediately obvious exit.

Without warning, one of the stone tiles in the floor shot upward—a solid column—and slammed into the ceiling. Obi-Wan spun to look at it, realized he was standing on a number of columns just like it, and spun the other way to the door.

Already closed.

Shit.

He pressed his hands to the door, pulse rocketing before he closed a grip on his fear and wrestled it down. Still, adrenaline pumped through him, and he drew instinctively on the Force to heighten his perceptions. Give him the split second of foresight. The tile under his foot.

He bolted to the opposite corner as the column he'd been standing on rose toward the ceiling.

"Aylee!" he shouted. Then, idiot, shouted it across the bond.

One of the tiles on the wall slid outward, bisecting the space.

 _Whatever you're doing out there, stop. Stop!_

 **AYLEE**

Tir-Zen pulled out another block constructing a staircase to the ledge.

"Stop!" Aylee shouted at him, and Tee froze.

Anakin looked down toward the ground from halfway up. "Where's my master?" he asked.

Good question.

 _Where are you?_

 _There was a door to a little room. I'm inside._

 _Door where?_

 _Left wall. Anakin moved a block, and a door opened._

 _So you went inside._

 _We're exploring. I explored._

Aylee rolled her eyes and looked at Anakin. "He's . . . in the wall. Over there." She pointed.

Anakin looked skeptical at this explanation and hopped a few steps closer to the ground. "I don't see anything."

"The door opened when you moved the first stone. And then it closed."

 _Can't you lift the door?_ she asked him.

There was a pause. Probably him trying it.

 _No. I don't think it's being held closed by gravity._

Aylee pointed to the second step in the staircase. "This was the one you moved?"

Anakin nodded.

"What one did you move next?"

He pointed at the first one, and Aylee carefully exerted her will against it, pressing it back into the wall.

 _What are you doing?_

 _Moving the block Anakin moved after the door was open back into place._

 _Stop. Stop!_ His voice sounded sharp in her head, and she froze.

 **OBI-WAN**

The entire floor shifted upward. Slowly, but still they were all rising together.

 _All I did was move the same block back. About halfway._

Obi-Wan frowned.

 _Well it moved the whole floor, and the door didn't open._

There was a long pause, and then Aylee's voice in his head sounding tentative.

 _I'm going to try something else_.

He waited, body tense and ready to spring.

Instinct told him to duck, so he dropped as one of the tiles from the wall left of the doorway shot outward, crossing just above the one that already bisected the room. Several tiles on the opposite wall drew back.

"Slowly!" he shouted, mentally and physically.

 _I did!_

 _Then your movements out there don't quite equate to the movements in here. That almost took my head off._

He felt fear ripple across the bond.

 _That was the second stone. Two of them are back to the way they started._

 _But nothing in here is the way it started._ Obi-Wan scowled at the offending pillars. _Try something else._

There was a pause, then Aylee's voice in his head, hard with incredulity.

 _You want me to keep trying to get you crushed?_

 _I want to get out of here before the air runs out._

Her apprehension was a tight tug across the bond, but she conceded.

 **AYLEE**

Of all the stupid, fucking ridiculous . . .

Aylee let out a slow breath and looked up at Anakin and Tee poised on remaining two blocks still pulled from the wall. Tir-Zen crouched and touched the surface of the one he was standing on.

"Master," he said. "There's a line here. Running down the middle. And writing."

"Can you read it?"

Anakin dropped into a crouch. "There's one here, too!"

Tir-Zen tilted his head and scuttled around. "It's a number. Seven." His gaze skimmed the rest of the block's surface. "No. Three numbers." He reached and tapped the edge. "Five." And then at the edge with the wall. "Zero."

Aylee took that in. "Anakin?"

"I—" He turned to look down at her, frowning. "I dunno, I can't read it."

Tir-Zen hopped down to join him. He worked from outside in. "Two, nine, three."

"So, seven blocks, three positions." She tilted her head. "It's a kind of combination lock. They all—they all work together." She spread her hands, threads of thought twining together. "That's why moving one doesn't just undo that one. It's a new combination."

"So, let's just put them all back," Anakin said.

It was a reasonable place to start.

 _Get ready._

The boys hopped down to the floor, and Aylee pressed the fourth block back midway.

 _Fourth-seven_ , she told him.

 _What?_

 _Think of it like chess._

 _Right. I didn 't see anything happen there, but I heard something._

That was curious. She moved the block again.

 _Fourth-five._

 _Still breathing._

They worked through the third block the same way, returning the room to the way they'd found it.

 _Okay. Ready to try the first one Anakin moved again._

Aylee brought her hands through a slow, fluid motion and drew the stone out from the wall. Obi-Wan had said the speed didn't matter, but she couldn't help the caution. When the stone wouldn't move any further, she turned to where Obi-Wan had said the door had been.

 _Second-one. Ben?_

 _No door._

 _Yes, I can see that._

 _Everything else went back to the way it was. No injuries._

 _Well, now what?_

There was a pause she didn't like at all. Then,

 _Oh, shit._

 _What?_

 _Something's started ticking._

 _Ticking?_

 _And I'm pretty sure the ceiling is moving down._

Alarm spiked through Aylee's body, and she stared at Tir-Zen with wide eyes.

"Master?"

 _You'd better start trying things, fast._

She scowled, which only made Tee more confused.

 _Trying things? There are seven blocks with three positions each. Do you know how many combinations that is?_

Ben replied, _A lot?_

"Two thousand!" Aylee shouted, her breathing coming quicker.

The padawans drew back a little, and she clenched her fists.

"Okay. Okay. Anakin you take the first one. Tee, you take the second and third. I'm going to take the rest. Move them when I tell you to, all right?"

 _I don't know the numbers on the seventh block. So just one, two, three for now._

She blew out a breath and spread her Force power wide, picking out the movable blocks from the surrounding stone and latching on. She started this time from the top.

 _Wait, go back! Part of the floor dropped. I can-I can see a corner of a doorway. That must be partly right._

She kept going. Pausing as little as possible. Hoping Ben was fast enough, prescient enough. She called Tir-Zen into service. Then Anakin.

 _Aylee . . . It's getting very small in here!_

"Back! Anakin!"

She bit her lip.

 _Third, nine._

 _Wait, wait!_

 **OBI-WAN**

"Very small in here" didn't quite cover the breadth of the situation.

Obi-Wan had been lying flat on top of a horizontal pillar as ones from the floor rose and fell. The space between his face and the ceiling was smaller than the width of a tile, so nothing could hit him where he was. Until the ceiling crushed him, of course.

He turned his head to the side to make himself thinner still and felt with the Force for the small opening he knew to be there. More rocks shifted, and he exhaled, breathing as lightly as possible. Small pants, while he pressed the panic away. The sound of his own breath bounced back loud in his ears.

Aylee kept calling numbers to give him reference points. Something to identify a good move or a poor one. Maybe just something to say to keep communication up.

He felt the space beyond his feet expand and managed to glance down to see the far wall pulling away, the opening expanding. He pushed himself off the shelf and dropped easily into a crouch. It was a clear meter across now. And wide enough for an arm.

On impulse, he shoved his arm through. Then pulled it back as images of a severed limb whipped through his mind. The grind of stone continued, and the wall started moving back again.

 _Wait, wait!_

 _What?_

 _That was good. We just need to move the floor down. Just enough that I can crawl through. I don't think we need the whole combination, just a good enough one._

The ticking, ticking, ticking. He glanced up as the ceiling eliminated his crawl space and grimaced.

 _Hurry, please._

He curled into a ball as the space got tighter. Smaller. Panic clawed from the bottom of his gut to the crown of his head. Hot nausea. Icy terror. There wasn't space to pant. Air to breathe. Things shifted that he couldn't see, and he pulled out of the way once as another pillar ate the space where a foot had been.

 _Aylee . . ._

A cascade of motion dropped the floor beneath him. Head, shoulders, and knees bashed against the stones as he tumbled and slammed against a newly formed wall to a stop. He let out a grunt of pain.

 _Stop!_

And scrambled. Several pillars had fallen into the shape of stairs, widening the opening on the lowest step just enough. He lunged for it, gripped the edges of the stone with his fingers, and pulled himself through, wriggling to get one heavily padded—stupid uniform—shoulder free, then the other. The fabric of his cloak ripped, and he dropped unceremoniously like a birthed whilk calf onto the hard floor below and puffed for a moment in the dust.

 _I made it._ He bundled a bit of laughing joy and projected it outward. _I have no idea where I am, but I made it._

He felt an uncoiling of relief and the warmth of a smile. Then his comlink chimed, and he had to roll onto his back to answer it.

"Hello," he said, huffing.

"You're an idiot."

"I'm a pioneer!"

"You're a pioneering idiot."

He grinned and got up, dusting grit from his hand. "I am also in a very different looking sort of passage. No polished walls and gold striping here." He turned to look at the tiny lit opening back to the trap room behind him, the tatters of his cloak spewing from the maw, and spotted a panel on the wall set with glowing crystals. A door control for sure, but not one he knew how to use. "I think . . . I should press on. See where this leads."

Aylee was quiet.

"Master, what do you see?" Anakin said, sounding more full of wonder than worry. Obi-Wan pictured him grabbing for the com.

"Well . . ." He paced to a wall and touched it. New rule: Touch _everything_ in the dangerous Sith ruins. "It's the same gray rock, carved smooth, but not polished." He glanced down the corridor. "More of those crystal lights set into the walls. But no fancy sconces. It looks . . . plain. Utilitarian. Wherever this goes, it doesn't look built to impress visitors."

He started down the only way there was to go. "I'll let you know what I find."

"Good luck," Aylee replied.

 **AYLEE**

She clicked off the com and tucked it back into her belt. They needed their own way forward.

"All right. Pull them all out again," she said, gesturing vaguely at the room.

Tir-Zen and Anakin hopped to, eager throw a bit of power around. They put Force behind their jumps, too, leaping from block to block in a way mundanes largely couldn't. Yet another way of enforcing that only the right people could gain access to Tritos Nal's sanctuary. Aylee stayed on the ground, observing as they jumped higher and higher. It wasn't much of a test of a Force-wielder's power to make them bound up some stable steps.

Something might become, she thought, suddenly unstable. And she wanted a good view and some distance to be sure she could do something about it. Tir-Zen led, and he alighted on the upper ledge in a flutter of dark green cloak. He thrust a hand in Anakin's direction, warding him off, and then looked down at Aylee, gestured. Probably speaking, not that she had a prayer of hearing him with his voice soft as it was.

Aylee plucked her com from her belt pointedly and called him.

She watched him pause, then pull out his own comlink and answer.

"Hi, Master."

"What were you saying?"

"I said there's a door up here, but it's closed. The only thing on it is one of Tritos Nal's crests."

"No writing?"

"No." He shook his head. "The only writing I've seen is the numbers."

The numbers. There had to be something about the numbers, didn't there? There was too obviously something about them for there not to be something about them.

"Toss me the datapad."

From very high up, Tir-Zen unslung his satchel and with a big swing lobbed the whole thing in Aylee's general direction. She waited, watching the strap flap, and then flung out a hand to grab it and reel it in. A casual action on both their parts. Aylee settled the strap crosswise over her chest and pulled the datapad out.

"Now, read me all the numbers again."

Tee had to do this, too, because Anakin hadn't (and probably would never) learn ancient Sith script. Come to think of it, Aylee didn't recall actually teaching it to Tir-Zen either. But he did grow up in a library. Probably couldn't help but pick up something.

She made a chart, with the digit for "completely in the wall" on the left, regardless of the way the block stood in the room. That made the left column of numbers almost entirely worth ignoring. There _had_ to be stepping stones to the top. Maybe not all of them. But some of them. So most of the answer lay with what remained.

Aylee scanned them top to bottom. Bottom to top. The four at the top caught her eye, and she felt her mind plucking at memories. Four Core Worlds. Fourth planet in the system. Tritos was born on the fourth day of the second—

Her gaze dropped to the row below.

—of the second month. The sixth block set to the middle was a two.

It couldn't be that simple, could it? His _birthday_?

But then, did people ever change, really?

Tritos Nal, according to his biography, was born on the fourth day of the second month 4043 BRR. A scale that didn't actually exist when he occupied this place. Frustrating thing about history. Everyone kept declaring new Year Zeros. Starting over.

Back then, everything occurred in reference to the Tho Yor Arrival. TYA. Aylee tapped on the screen, doing the math.

31,410 TYA.

A year in five digits. A day. And a month. Seven. She snorted to herself in disbelief and shifted the blocks on her own. The first one, closest to the ground, went flat with the wall, as did the fifth, leaving a large gap where someone would have to jump clear across the room. A miss meant a drop of several hundred feet with nothing to grab onto.

Tir-Zen peered over the ledge as she set the final stone, then whirled.

"It's open!" he said into the com, raspy voice animated with excitement.

"Wait for me."

Aylee dropped the datapad into the satchel, and when she looked up again, Tee was gone.

"Tir-Zen, I said wait!"

She thrust the comlink into her belt as she gathered strength and leapt from stone to stone. Anakin had followed Tee almost immediately, and be _damned_ if two padawans got into trouble. One foot landed on the upper ledge, and she pressed into a run, following the lit corridor down a series of steps and landings. She caught sight of Anakin's cloak just disappearing around a corner at what looked to be the bottom.

Aylee found them on the last landing, blocking the doorway to a new chamber. Tir-Zen peeked over his shoulder and shrugged with a contrite smile. She offered him a look of appropriate disapproval. At least they hadn't gone rushing in, given Obi-Wan's experience with death traps. She wedged her way between them, peered around, and stepped in first.

This room wasn't nearly as high as the other. But it was still vast. Square. She couldn't imagine a point to this scale, when so much of it was left empty. And how was it warm? She knelt and put her hand to the floor, nodding when she found it hot. She had no sense for how far they'd come into the mountainside. Where the magma gathered. Or where Tritos Nal may have diverted it.

The gold inlaid decorations took on new form. The crystal lights shone off grids of interconnected lines in the walls spidering out to gold disks and tiles. A metal spire jutted from one wall, and along the wall opposite stood a stepped dais with a metal ball set on a pedestal.

Aylee wandered toward the center of room, turning slowly as she looked at the markings. The boys fanned out in different directions, Tee heading for the dais. The spike in the wall did not bode well, but she couldn't see how it might kill them immediately. Not unless more came shooting from hidden compartments. The lines of gold ran along the ceiling, too.

"Does anything look like a door?" she asked, and finished turning to see Anakin standing in front of the wall with the spire, his arms crossed and head tilted. She looked back. "Tee—"

A blinding flash.

A sound like a shot.

Tir-Zen flew limp and doll-like off the dais. Comically slowly.

His skull cracked against the floor.

"TEE!"

Aylee screamed.

Before her mind knew why, her heart knew. She darted for him. Blurred the short distance and slid on her knees to his side. The afterimage of the globe and his hand burned and blotted her vision. She checked his pulse.

No pulse.

Her breath vanished into too quick gasping. She stared down at him. Stared down at him. Dead, dead. Dead.

Knives punctured her gut. Tears flooded her eyes, while her hands shook. _Shook._ She couldn't. He wasn't— She couldn't—

Everything spun too fast. And the panic—

Tee!

She screamed into her throat. Frozen.

Nonononononono.

Warmth like a desert wind washed across her senses. Brought the trembling in her hands to stillness. The slipping gears of her mind slowed enough to catch—to do more than scream with incoherent terror.

No pulse.

No pulse.

No pulse, no heartbeats. She could fix heartbeats.

She sucked a breath and let it out slowly, spreading her hands above his chest. She let her eyes fall shut and felt for the Force in him, for the nexus points in a Zabrack's hearts, and centered her palms. Shaking, she let the Force come. Whip cold down her arms. Run in gushes off her hands.

Reached down.

Reached in.

She squeezed her fingers. A quick jolt of a compression, one heart, then the other. Once.

A breath.

Twice.

A breath.

She squeezed the Force in him, lacing it with raw power.

Three times.

 _Please . . ._

Four.

Tears slipped out from under her eyelids.

She struggled to make the movements small. Precise. Not too much to break. Not too little.

Hope cracked. Crumbled.

She jolted him.

Five.

"Come on!" It stripped her throat.

Six.

Tir-Zen gasped.

Aylee's eyes flew open, and she stared just for a moment while he panted and looked up in confusion.

She lost all sense. Went red-faced and crying. Quaking as she pulled him to her chest. Cradled his head in her hands.

"You're okay . . ." She rocked them. Kissed his temple. "You're okay. You're okay . . ."

Tir-Zen shook and clutched weakly at her arms. "W— What?"

She didn't know. Didn't know, didn't care. Just held him painfully tight until the tears stopped and her body trembled more from loss of adrenaline than fear.

Tee moved, then hissed and lifted his hand for them both to see. It was scorched black and red, the skin split down the side revealing bloody, leaking flesh. Aylee felt her stomach drop out again. Tir-Zen shook violently and turned his face away with a shocked moan.

"It's okay," she told him, forcing herself to sound calm. "We have things for that."

They all carried bacta patches and salves. Aylee chanced looking away long enough to find Anakin staring from a distance.

"Anakin, I need your help," she said.

The boy jolted and hurried over, his eyes wide.

"Get the patches from your pouch."

He did so, fumbling.

Tir-Zen wheezed, and he curled his knees in as the pain overtook the shock.

Anakin produced the thin roll and peeled a patch free. Aylee took Tee's wrist in one hand and channeled the Force into a fine mist, imbued with intent to heal. To soothe.

"Cover the split," she told Anakin with a nod. Fought her own desire to shake and start crying again."Be gentle."

The boy's fingers shook a little, but he applied the patch—Tee wheezed harder, biting down on a moan—and pressed the edges in place. Aylee turned Tir-Zen's wrist for a better look. The patch covered the worst of it, but he still had surface burns. She closed off the healing energy and unclipped a pouch on her belt instead, searching for a small atomizer of bacta spray.

"Anakin, cut a strip off the bottom of his cloak."

Anakin blinked at the sprawl of fabric bunched under Tir-Zen's body. "Uh. With what?"

 _With wh—_

"With your lightsaber, what else?"

Anakin opened his mouth to ask something, maybe object, but he snapped his jaw shut at her impatient look and did as he was told. He made a quick slice along the bottom edge, producing a curl of foul smoke and a makeshift bandage. Aylee applied the bacta spray and showed Anakin how to wind a bandage that would stay tight.

Tir-Zen shook but voiced no complaint. He drew his bandaged hand into his chest and drew deep, rapid breaths, his head still resting against Aylee's chest, horns dangerously close to her face. She stroked a thumb along his scalp near a front horn in a way he'd always found soothing and rocked them both.

He would be fine.

He would be fine . . . .

 **OBI-WAN**

He felt it halfway up a long staircase. A scream. The terror behind a scream. He'd turned to the voiceless sound in the direction of Aylee's presence. A squall of unfiltered emotion lashed over him, and at the center, sending his heart racing: fear. Flailing, scrabbling, drowning.

He could not imagine what was happening and stared hard at the blank stone wall _trying_ to see. She wasn't crying out for him, but she _was_ crying. Desperate. He did the only thing he could think to do. Send back something calming; share his stability. She done it for him once upon a time, before either of them really knew what they were doing.

Obi-Wan dropped to sitting on a step and focused on his breathing. He let stillness suffuse his limbs and concentration quiet his thoughts. Meditation wasn't always a calm or quiet endeavor, and Aylee's emotions buffeting against him made it worse. He imagined glowing with calm, the way she had guided them to imagine passing around Light. Radiating it outward like heat. Like a star.

The squall vanished almost as abruptly as it started, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes, opened his senses. Anticipation curled around his heart as he waited. Wondering. Each second adding a grain of doubt. He hadn't sent words. Whatever was happening, distraction might be a liability.

He swallowed, waiting in the silence.

Relief splashed cool across his chest, and he found himself smiling, laughing a little with a shared and ghostly joy. A lightness he could feel to his fingertips, though he didn't know why.

Something shifted, then. Like locking gazes. And the emotion that followed . . .

 _Stars . . ._

A strong and burning heat, a fierce fond flood. There was only one word for it.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, blushing as he melted under the touch. Lost his breath to it.

"I know," he whispered, sending the words more clearly than his tight throat could manage.

Carefully, one finger at a time, he loosened his grip on the feeling struggling behind his ribs. A thing of fire and affection and close, humble joys. A pain too sweet to examine, too exhilarating to ignore. He let it free. And it stretched its quaking flanks and flashed. And did not trample him to dust.

The bond went quiet.

The feeling, the exhilarated lightness remained. And Obi-Wan tried to think through what he'd done. Shared. But his mind slipped off tales of consequences, and he found himself simply smiling. Curling protectively around the feeling and letting it ring through his bones.

He got up, dusting his hands, and continued the climb. Glowing. Grinning. Harboring a laugh just beneath his breastbone.

He climbed an endless seeming climb. Stairs weren't quite the same as a run, and eventually he felt the exertion burn at his legs. He needed to add stairs his regimen, clearly. Every so often a landing offered a chance to stretch and rest. But eventually an end materialized out of the dimness. The ceiling ceased climbing upward. And Obi-Wan huffed in relief as he pressed up the top step to find no more waiting for him.

Instead, a door stood molded into the wall in front of him—this one closer in design to the rooms they'd first encountered. Polished stone with threads of inlaid gold, so straight and perfect only sentient hands could be responsible. It bore Tritos Nal's crest, with a seam down the center so finely honed it was only the catch of the light from the proper sconces on either side that gave it away.

There was no mechanism for entry.

Obi-Wan touched the seam down the center of the door and nodded to himself. Sith Only. Force Users only. He took a step back and checked the walls for things like regular geometric shapes that might be columns. Or holes that might shoot spikes.

He scuffed his boots and checked the floor, too—near-crushing makes one wary—and lifted his left hand, about channel some Force. Inspiration and excess caution struck, and he took a few more steps back until he was standing on the first step. Also no obvious holes, spikes, columns, spigots for molten lava, or blaster barrels pointed his way.

Obi-Wan nodded to himself again and flicked his hand at the door, pressing his will into and around the stone, applying pressure to split it apart. These weren't the heavy stuff of the main gate, and somehow the mechanism felt smooth. The door opened with little effort, revealing . . . nothing. Just another small room the size of a closet.

The doors wanted to close, so he had to maintain an effort of Force to keep them open as he stepped closer. A light shone down from the ceiling of the room. And there was, he saw as he got near the edge of stepping inside, a control panel with a simple set of buttons. An arrow up. An arrow down.

An elevator.

Well, that beat stairs.

Obi-Wan gathered his courage a little and stepped in, letting the doors slide shut behind him. The light overhead glowed a wan white, just enough to make the space feel small. Gold lines connected to the panel and spidered their way around the whole interior, shaping patterns that looked more artful that purposeful. The up arrow pulsed faintly, so Obi-Wan pressed it and reached out with his senses as the lift slid into motion.

This, too, bore the mark of careful crafting. No bumps. No jostling. Thousands of years old, untouched, and it not only worked but felt new.

He found only rock beyond the confines of the lift and quickly pulled his senses inward before he got caught contemplating the thickness of the stone and the distance between himself and daylight. He stared up at the white crystal and concentrated on his breathing.

The elevator doors opened by themselves at the top, and a blast of heat hit his face, tightening and drying the skin. He blinked against it and held up a hand in an instinctive shield, but the heat permeated, and he slowly lowered his arm, peering around with slitted eyes.

Crystals in the ceiling and walls still provided light, but there was a new source somewhere up ahead—glowing orange. He pressed into the furnace with careful steps, grimacing as the heat intensified and his flesh stung, while the Dark Side clawed at him with cold, muddy fingers. He was the miter where they met, the fragile interface of sickening dichotomy. A battlefield instantiated. But it made the heat more bearable. The narrow passage opened into a room dusty with clutter, and straight across the moderate space, a glowing maw. A lava-fueled heart, in slow, endless motion.

His eyes alighted on the long tables down either side of the room, obscured by shadow. What looked like a bookcase. But they were drawn to the shape worked into the wall, a chimney above the overn.

Obi-Wan dared a few steps closer, eyes fixed and fascinated by the lava oozing down one side and away on another. A few meters from the center of the most intense heat and glow stood an anvil, as plain and simple as men had used for millennia. And if that was an anvil, then this was . . .

Tritos Nal's forge.

He turned from the heat and glanced at the tables, his pulse quickening. That made this . . . his workshop. His _actual_ workshop. Obi-Wan saw now, as his eyes adjusted, tools hung on simple pegs along the wall. A blacksmith's tools. Hammers. Pliers.

A control panel glowed near the door, and he strode back to press it, bringing the room to dazzling brightness. It was a _workshop_ , of course he needed to see. Obi-Wan spun back around, and this time the shop glittered back at him. Not just a blacksmith's heavy accoutrement. He neared the table on the right, excitement bubbling through his blood.

Microscopes. Lenses. He touched a finger to small and delicate implements, jeweler's tools, left strewn in the open as though their owner had gone for lunch and never returned. He bent to check the clamp under the microscope, but whatever it had once held for examination was gone.

He moved to the bookcase, scanning over titles in a script he could not read. The binding looked brittle—dry and cracked. Little wonder. _He_ felt dry and cracked—sweat evaporating instantly from his skin. With gentle fingers, he eased a book away from its long home and cradled it as he turned it flat. Small flecks fluttered down at the motion. The cover had been set on hinges of material yellowed with age. He lifted it, revealing a blank sheet ragged at the edges.

The urge to touch proved overwhelming, and he tried to turn the first page.

It broke off into flakes between his fingers and set off a chain reaction as the binding turned to dust, and the pages fluttered out in a spill of fragile wings that barely touched the ground as they turned into a pile of unburnt ash.

Obi-Wan stared and, even though he was alone, glanced around the room anyway, as though Aylee or Tritos Nal might be there to offer a stern look. He carefully closed what remained of the empty case cover and set it on the table before turning to the bookcase. More volumes taunted him. Aylee would want the books. But . . . He glanced down at the dusty pulp. But then again, what good would leaving them do?

On the third hand, a Republic expedition with advanced technology might be able to preserve the rest before moving them.

He frowned curiously at a small case on the shelf acting as a bookend and went to lift the latch. Caution struck the back of his skull, and he paused, then pointed at it with just two fingers and focused some Force into lifting the latch for him. A blood red light spilled from the case as the lid lifted.

A Sith holocron.

Excitement sizzled down Obi-Wan's arms again. Yes, that was better than books. Less fragile. He lowered the lid and eased the box off the shelf without toppling the tomes it had held in place.

There were more. Three more. And he dropped them all into his satchel with a widening grin. And still one half of the room left to inspect! No obvious artifacts, though. Nothing sang with dark energy or whispered with temptation. The second table stood lined with drawers above the workspace. Parts, maybe. But he reached for one to check.

And pain lanced through him _incandescent_.

Blinding white.

He hit his knees.

And hit the floor.

 **AYLEE**

Tir-Zen sat on the floor, leaning against the bottom of the dais. He held his bandaged hand curled close to his chest, his legs splayed into a lazy triangle with one foot near one knee. Aylee watched him breathing with slow and even purpose, in a rhythm she'd taught him as a child. It flushed stress from the body and made space for the healing presence of the Force. Keeping count served as a meditation, too, centering the mind.

A small smile touched her lips. At once proud and keening with bittersweetness. She swallowed over a painful lump in her throat and looked away, her gaze landing on Anakin instead. He was still mapping the room for himself, making a mental model of the designs laid into the walls and ceiling.

Perhaps Tee was right in meditating. The shock of her emotions still quaked, leaving her legs strangely hollow and her stomach in knots. If Ben hadn't—

She took a small step and let her gaze drop to the floor, concentrating on the sensation of her foot bones taking her weight. Ankle bending. Balance shifting. Inhale—step. Exhale—step.

—but he had. And she had poured herself into her gratitude, heedless. Laying herself bare in all her affection. Felt it reflected back, colored with the velvet warm glow in his presence, always.

It could be enough. Games of skill and touching hands and long looks over tea steam. She would fit that box, somehow.

Step—inhale.

Step—exhale.

"Master Desai!" Anakin waved as he shouted, jogging in her direction.

Aylee stopped and looked up at him.

"It's a circuit!" he announced, coming close enough not to shout. He bounced on the balls of his feet and swept his hands around. "I checked and checked. It's all connected!"

She glanced up around them. "What is?"

"Everything! Every wall. Every line. They all intersect. And it's laid out like a circuit in a droid just . . . huge."

The lines of gold set into the stone gleamed as Aylee turned taking it all in again. The . . . circuit. The spire. The dais and globe.

"What does it do?" She looked at Anakin.

His excited face split into a grin. "I have _no_ idea!"

"A circuit," she repeated. Large, ancient electronics. She turned on her heel and stared at the spire. Then the globe, threads of thought spinning together and thickening into solid ideas. She canted her head. "Circuits need power."

"Yeah," Anakin replied.

Aylee's gaze dropped to Tee on the floor as her pulse quickened. Then up to the globe. Oh. _Oh . . ._

She started across the room, her swift steps turning into a trot. Tir-Zen opened his eyes and looked up as she streamed away from where he sat, heading for the stairs.

"Master?" He shuffled himself around to look.

"I know what this is!" She hurried up the steps.

Of _course_. It made sense. They weren't just Force users, they were _Sith_.

Tir-Zen's eyes widened in alarm. "Master!" he rasped louder, twisting one way, then the other, and craning to look.

Aylee's pace slowed, even as her heart pounded, and she stared at the orb.

"Master, you can't!" Tee's voice shivered out of him with the color of panic. "We _know_ what it is!"

"No . . ." She shook her head, gazed never leaving the gleaming surface.

"Power. Electricity."

The knowledge solidified as she took a step closer and felt it, a cold wafting across her skin. "Not electricity, Tee. These were Sith." She flicked her eyes to him finally. "This is Force Lightning. Held in a capacitor."

His expression clouded, and he shook his head a little in confusion. "So?"

"So . . . Lightsiders, properly prepared, can channel Force Lightning," she said gently, belying the brew of excited terror streaming through her limbs.

Tir-Zen scowled. "Have . . . you done that?"

She flashed him a smile and turned back to the orb. "No." And then lifted a hand.

"Master, don't!" Tir-Zen staggered up to standing, cradling his arm. "If—" He swallowed. "I can't save you if something happens," he said, soft voice shaking.

"I can do it." Deadly calm. Not looking at him.

"You don't know that."

"The Force is strong here." She met his eyes. " _I_ am strong here."

"That's the Dark Side talking."

Aylee shook her head, smiling a little. "The Dark Side is quick and powerful. Unpredictable. Difficult to control. But it's the same river, Tee. Further downstream in the same river. You're stronger here, too."

He shook his head, mouth twisting with a bleak expression. "Master . . ."

"I can do this. I promise."

At her words, Tir-Zen squared his shoulders and stood a little straighter.

She _could_ do this. The trick was in the preparation. In knowing it was coming.

Aylee reached out beyond the tips of her fingers, feeling with the Force toward the orb. The sensation of a cold wind was nothing compared to the object itself. Energy swirled around it, an envelope of dark power in constant motion, constant tension. Trapped.

She touched it through the Force, and it pulled on her power like a cyclone, drawing her into its isolated cataract. It burned like ice. And like ice, chilled what came in contact. Rills of liquid cold shot in a spiral up her arm, and she gasped as she fell into its torrent.

Dimly, someone else spoke, but her ears rang with a blue ice bell and the rush of heated blood.

Aylee planted her feet and waited, adjusting, finding her balance.

And then she touched her palm to the orb's shining surface.

Pain.

So many _kinds_ of pain.

Force lightning shot through Aylee's being with the blue black fire of ice and emptiness. Stabbing and slicing across her skin without leaving a mark. Gouging through her Living Force where she could not will it into control. The fire turned tearing, separating flesh from shattering bone.

She flung her left hand toward the metal spire and screamed as she gave direction to the raw energy. _Must_ have screamed, because her throat burned and tasted of blood, even though she couldn't hear over the crack and the roar of the Dark Side's fury. She saw the bolt connect and the wall light, and then pressed her eyes shut to block it out. To concentrate.

Lightning beat hammers on her bones. Filed away the tips of her fingers. Her hands went cold. Biting. Frozen. Gone and not gone. It flayed open pulsing nerves as too much Force barreled through, beyond her control.

She had to hold. Hold against the tide. Hold against the agony. Make the Dark Side break against her will and flow around, bent to her command.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she lost the breath for screaming. But inside, inside, the howl raged just as strong. She couldn't spare control enough to hide it. Or strength enough to stand. Her bones _must_ crack from the torrent, explode into skin-piercing shards. Her nerves burn and wither to uselessness.

Enough time and it would happen. Enough time, and it would end.

Just maintain contact . . . maintain contact and complete the circuit.

Maintain contact.

Main—

 _Pant._

Main—

Aylee flew suddenly sideways, and her hand slipped from the Force capacitor. She didn't go far. A meter maybe. Just far enough to break the connection. The wave of the Dark Side crested, crashed, and the Force rolled itself out into the fat swell of a flood. Aylee lay as she landed, shaking as the lances of ice withdrew from her limbs. As her body remembered warmth and the existence of its own heat and drew small, cautious breaths.

A muffled voice in the darkness, nearly drowned by a ringing so loud it surpassed sound.

She flinched as something scalding touched her face, and it startled her eyes open. Tir-Zen curled his fingers away, a few inches from her cheek. Anakin leaned in next to him, both peering down with wide, terrified eyes.

Air flared the burning embers in her throat as she inhaled more deeply and cracked the frozen ribs in her chest. She shivered at the jolt of pain, then coughed and blinked dumbly.

"Master?" Tir-Zen asked, audible now over the ringing.

She tried to say "What?" but only managed a broken croak and frowned toward the orb, unable to see much else for the wall of padawan bodies and cloaks.

Tee turned a little, following her gaze, and offered a chagrined look. "I . . . didn't know how else to make you stop."

He'd hit her with a Force push, she realized, feeling slow. Another thought struck close on that one's heels. The room. Did they— Did she—

Aylee convulsed trying to sit up, and Tir-Zen reached out to do the lifting, setting her so she could hold her weight on trembling arms. Anakin fell back a step, and she could see the metal spire, exactly where it had been. _No, oh, no . . ._

Her heart pounded, and her stomach twisted. "Door," she rasped. "A door?"

"Door," Anakin said, beaming. He swept his arm and stepped further aside. "You moved a whole wall!"

And, indeed, the wall to the right of the spire had drawn up into the ceiling—a good twenty feet of clearance. The sick clench in her gut relaxed, and she sagged. Feeling surged through her limbs in a wave of fiery pins, and she bit her lip, hissing. She tried to move her legs, despite the needling pain of it, the sudden pull of exhaustion.

"Master, don't."

"We need to get through," she said, panting at the effort of speaking. "Before it . . ." She waved a hand vaguely at the passage, and Tir-Zen's face lit with understanding. He frowned down at her a moment, watching as she struggled with breathing and sitting upright.

"Anakin," Tee said, tipping his head Aylee's direction. Tir-Zen was too tall for her to sling an arm around his neck, but Anakin was almost evenly matched.

Aylee grimaced and bit down on her whimpers of pain as Anakin slithered into position and secured her arm around his neck. He gave her a steady, serious look, and only when she nodded did he press them both up to standing. The effort left her winded, and while the pins would surely pass, she wondered at the weakness and the lingering sense of radiated chill from her marrow. This must be what a stone feels like. Heavy. Dull. Cold. And with momentum toward stationary.

They hustled—hobbled—down the dais steps and toward the passageway, Tir-Zen hovering close but leading the way. The ancient turbines of the workshop lay dormant again, and there was no sound except for their footsteps and echoing grunts of pain. Halfway under the thick stone of the lifted wall, Anakin's comlink chimed.

He ignored it, and they kept moving.

Tir-Zen hurried ahead to check for routes and options. It could have opened onto a passageway. Or yet another giant chamber meant to intimidate visitors. When he cleared the thickness of the wall, he craned his head back—a higher ceiling then—and looked both ways before turning around to beckon them on.

Anakin's comlink chimed again.

Aylee scowled, shuffling, as her head swam.

The comlink chimed. _Chimed._ It rang with the frequency of someone jamming on the call button, and then suddenly Obi-Wan's voice sounded from Anakin's belt, and the boy jumped a little. Emergency override features were standard on Temple-issued comlinks, though by practice rarely used.

"Anakin!" The word came out short and sharp. "What's going on?"

"We just—"

"Where's Aylee?"

Anakin lifted an eyebrow at the quaver in his master's voice and glanced over.

"Here," she managed, the sound creaking out.

"I tried—" He started. Stopped. "All I feel is cold. Burning cold."

Anakin maneuvered them out from under the looming weight of the stone wall to a space Tir-Zen had staked out as safe. He turned slowly so Aylee could brace her back against a wall and carefully unwound them.

Aylee found herself nodding at the fractured thoughts. Ben had tried to reach through the bond. Couldn't. Called instead.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked.

Her eyes shut on their own as she slid down against the wall into an artless heap. "Been better."

"What _happened_. Someone tell me what happened!"

"It was awesome!" Anakin replied. "You should've seen it. There was this ball and this spire. And it was a huge circuit. And the only way to complete the circuit—"

" _Anakin._ "

"Force lightning!" Anakin plucked his comlink from his belt and whooped at it.

"What?" Obi-Wan's frown of confusion was audible.

"Master Desai channeled Force lightning," Anakin said, enunciating his words.

Fatigue pulled on Aylee's face and shoulders. Residual cold left her fingers slow and aching, and she flexed them for circulation. She felt Tir-Zen's presence move closer, and a second later the sound of him crouching.

Obi-Wan's voice went soft, stunned. "She did what?"

"Master," Tee whispered and touched her shoulder.

She was there. Listening. And roused her eyes open to look from Tir-Zen to Anakin to the comlink.

She smiled slowly at the com. "It can be done."

"Or it can kill you."

"Well it didn't."

Obi-Wan huffed, and she could picture the way he'd be squeezing the bridge of his nose. His voice came out a wavering whisper. "I wasn't so sure."

Aylee frowned at that, and her fingers paused in their curling motion. She turned her sense inward, toward the Force, toward the glow she had grown accustomed to in her periphery. Only her perception slipped across where it should have been, and her gut seized at the stumble, at the missed step.

She focused harder and sucked an uneasy breath as she found the faintest glimmer of familiar presence. A star too far to see, obscured by clouds or a bright sky. The Dark Side did not get its name for no reason.

"I'm sorry," she said, and stared at Anakin holding the comlink.

Anakin bit his lip and frowned.

"It hurt," Obi-Wan said simply. A bald, raw admission he might not have made if the padawans stood watching. If he'd remembered they were listening. "A little . . . warning, next time, darling. If you please."

Guilt burned across Aylee's chest and throat, adding to the ache from the screaming. She hadn't even thought— Hadn't stopped to think.

She'd _felt_ him dying and hadn't stopped to think—

"I—" She didn't have the words. "Are you—?"

"Fine," he said, sounding amused. "It's only a rock floor."

Aylee scowled and struggled to sit up straighter against the wall, fighting fatigue. "That's not funny." She settled at a light pressure of Tee's hand on her shoulder.

"No," Obi-Wan agreed. "But it did give me some perspective."

 **OBI-WAN**

Empty eyes sockets stared shadowed black from the space under the workbench. Obi-Wan watched the glow from the blinking light on his comlink limn the orbital bones, and he touched lightly on his own skull where a nice lump was already forming. No one spoke on Aylee's end of the com.

Force lightning. A true Dark Side power. What had she been thinking?

"I'm glad you're all right," he said after a time.

Her presence had been growing easier to find, and he felt a press of awareness through the bond, like she was testing the connection. He answered with an effort, a smile, a communication of emotion below words, and the comlink felt suddenly awkward in his hand.

"Are _you_ all right, Master?" Anakin's young voice sounded startlingly shrill in the stone box of the workshop that was, he thought grimly, quite properly a tomb.

"Yes, Anakin. I've found Tritos Nal's workshop. His forge."

"The gem?" Aylee sounded stronger for a second.

Obi-Wan grinned sadly. "No. I'd have led with that."

He could picture the falling expression on her face.

"But at least one corpse," he said, voice soft and solemn.

Tir-Zen's rasp echoed his own thoughts. "We aren't the first."

"No." Obi-Wan tilted his head and squinted at the skeletal remains. "But the first in a long time, I'd say." He took a light from his belt and flicked it on, shifting around to ease the pressure on his knees against the stone. "I'm going to see what else I can find."

"Master—" Tir-Zen again, sounding distant. Alarmed.

Obi-Wan froze, listening and feeling—a tuning fork for trouble.

"Uhhh . . . I . . . think we're gonna rest here for a little bit," Anakin said. "Everyone looks . . . really tired."

"And you?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Fine, Master."

Fine. Only a booby-trapped Sith temple in the heart of their ancient empire teeming with Dark Side power. _Fine . . ._

"Then you keep watch and let them rest."

"Yes, Master."

"Anakin." He brought the comlink closer. "No daydreaming. They're counting on you."

"Yes, Master."

That phrase could mean a number of things given different inflections. Anakin had made a full language of it to mark the _form_ of obedience with varying substance. This time, though, he sounded serious and present to their predicament.

Obi-Wan clicked off the com and slipped it back into the loop on his belt. He scooted forward, further under the workshop table and angled the light for a better look at the corpse he might actually have missed if not for the sudden blackout. Whiteout. Whatever. The tables were large and deep, and the bright lights overhead cut heavy, solid shadows.

The skeleton lay on its side, knees pulled up toward its chest. The skull wasn't human, though without any flesh or skin, he couldn't quite fathom the species. Humanoid in form. Four limbs. Its ungainly, long arms lay tucked close so its hands concentrated around its midsection. A hand had detached from its dangling wrist long ago. The creature's clothes looked to have gone much the way of Tritos Nal's books. Dried to brittle powder except patches near the shoulders that had the stiff thickness of leather. Obi-Wan touched a piece gently, and it did not crumble.

If the creature had hair, it didn't any longer. A fine coating of powder covered a flat lump of a pillow beneath its head. Obi-Wan squinted at the shape and moved the light to reveal a shifting ribbon of shadow. A strap. A _bag_. He bit his lower lip for a second, wrestling with the ethics of disturbing the dead.

But . . . no one else would be coming. And any family this alien had were long since gone. The mourning long since done.

He slid his fingers into the fine powdered dust beneath the skull, grimacing, and lifted gently. Just enough to ease the satchel out from underneath. A slow, steady slide, scraping tracks across the stones. Barely a disturbance. Barely—

The neck snapped.

And Obi-Wan jerked as the weight of the detached skull shifted in his hand. A flash of gold chain spilled onto the floor, jostled free from the corpse's neck bones. Obi-Wan swiped the satchel close to his side and set the skull carefully down before picking up the necklace. The simple flat-link chain had several triangles spaced around the front. The metal had the pocked reflections of something hand-hammered. He dropped it into the large pouch on his belt before sliding out into the bright workshop lights with the alien's satchel in hand.

The leather was baked solid into a closed state, and Obi-Wan had to borrow one of Nal's knives to cut it open. He wondered, briefly, if he was destroying an artifact of historical value and made a face. The sort of thing Aylee would say. It was a bag. Its value lay in holding things. Things like—he lifted one side to slide the contents out and slowly smiled. A small metal box clicked onto the table.

Obi-Wan turned it with his fingertips, examining the scrollwork along the surface. And then, like he had before, he gave himself space and pointed two fingers at the box. With a bit of Force, he worked the lock and slid the lid aside.

Green light spilled out, pulsing like a breath.

A holocron.

He frowned curiously at it. A tiny one. The container fit in the palm of his hand. Jedi and Sith devices were three or four times that size. Decorations on the surface gave the orb the distinct look of an eye, staring unblinkingly back. Obi-Wan slid the lid shut. Holocrons. He stood in the workplace of the Sith Empire's greatest weaponsmith, and all he had to show for it were holocrons.

And yet . . .

Aylee wouldn't see it that way. She'd see libraries in his hands. Knowledge.

He set the small box into his bag next to the other consolation prizes. His collection of failures. They had come for the Endless Gem and found dust. Dust wouldn't satisfy the Council. Dust wouldn't give Aylee what she needed.

Cold fingers of despair pressed into his lower back and gripped into his guts. Despite the heat of the forge and the dripping sweat, he felt the _fire_ going out—the will to strive. To live. They had come all this way and _failed_. Might as well lie down.

Might as well give up.

Every morning he turned his face to the rising sun so the light would spill in. Briefly. And fill the space of Qui-Gon's name.

Every day he failed at raising a padawan a little more. Unmatched to the task. Burdened by a promise made in grief. And now, now the Chosen One. And the weight of prophecy. It was too much to ask.

Obi-Wan's guts twisted slowly.

Master, gone.

Freedom, gone.

Faith, gone.

And here yet, another quest failed.

The weight of the Council's disappointment bent his knees, and his head swam as the oven of a workshop baked his skin and skull.

Just lie down . . .

Stop _trying_ so hard—it wouldn't make a difference. Couldn't.

 _Ben . . ._

He startled. And the pained, cold grip through his body paused in its advance. He turned as though he'd find her there, orienting on her presence through countless meters of solid rock. Obi-Wan blinked and stared at the empty space as sweat slid down his face and slipped down his back.

 _Obi-Wan?_

A question now, followed by the brushing touch of Force through the bond.

 _I'm here_ , he managed. Inadequate words. Stupid ones. Of course she'd—

 _What's wrong?_

A bitter smile crossed his face as he laughed once. _What isn't?_ A spin of hysterical madness passed over him and he calmed himself, shivering under the Dark Side's cloak, sweating to exhaustion from the forge's heat. _We failed. It isn't here. There's nothing here._

He heaved deeper breaths, and a headache like a hammer cracked behind his eyes while he waited for a reply.

Then hesitantly, _Are you all right?_

 _"No!"_ He shouted it out loud at the empty chamber and then pressed a hand over his eyes to stanch the building sting. _I won't— I can't—_ He sighed at all the ways those sentences might end. _There's no way back_ , he sent eventually.

A sensation swept across his cheeks like gentle fingers. The ache of cold in his guts eased, leaving the all-too-physical beat of the headache.

 _Can you go forward?_

A practical question, if he couldn't go back through the workshop's puzzle room. He turned toward the only section of the workshop he hadn't really explored: the forge. He squinted at it, shrinking from its punishing heat.

 _I can try_.

Humor and a smile reflected to him in sensation. _Do or do n—_

 _Don't._ His scowl spoke for itself, surely, and Aylee's presence quieted to something calm and amused.

Obi-Wan faced the forge, and it took a few steps to realize that all sense of a chill in the Force had gone. There was only heat now. Oppressive, breath sucking heat. He drew on the Force to build a barrier from it, and the icy needles of the Dark Side felt like relief—a strange and disquieting discovery. But he moved closer to flowing lava without bursting into flames; drew breath without scorching his lungs.

The lava ran through the forge with a mesmerizing slowness. Black crust cracked and pulled apart on the thick liquid glow. Obi-Wan's eyes followed the direction of the flow into the hearth, and he paced around the side to follow it back out again. The lava oozed back and down into a cut in the wall, and he couldn't fathom where it went from there. Back to the caldera, maybe.

It didn't matter.

What mattered was that the investigation had revealed an opening in the wall hidden from a head-on view of the forge. An entryway to a spiraling staircase. A way forward.

Obi-Wan pulled the satchel in close and squeezed into the narrow path, conscious of keeping his skin clear of the walls. Heat rises. The higher he went, the more Force he had to press into service to keep himself cool, and the worse the hot-chilled sensation of sickness became.

He stopped counting steps and concentrated on the motion of raising one knee, then the other. Sweat soaked his underclothes and tunic and was working its way through his tabard. He could feel his feet sliding in his boots. And despite his efforts, every breath burned on the inhale from sheer ambient heat.

The color of the light illuminating the curving wall of the stairwell shifted from glaring white to reddish gold, and Obi-Wan slowed as he reached the pinnacle. His eyes widened as he blinked and ventured forward a step from the dark shell of the stairs. A small chamber had been carved out of the rock—three rough, hand-hewn walls testified to the effort. And where there should have been a fourth . . . a glowing red emptiness. A vast open space with a single ledge jutting out into the volcano's caldera.

Obi-Wan swallowed and glanced once around to check that there were no more hidden paths. No additional stairways to climb. Just a half-bridge to nowhere but a lava pit. He scowled and headed toward whatever stood on the edge of the ledge.

Rising hot hair rolled across him as he stepped out from the mountainside, and the sweat in his clothes turned to instant steam. He jerked and hissed as it burned. Instinctively threw more Force into a protective barrier, and the Dark Side slammed harder through his sense, turning his bones to ice while his flesh boiled.

He staggered, panting, and lurched for the podium ahead. Through watering eyes, he saw a break in the shape of the caldera's interior wall opposite the bridge. Something in the shadowed crevasse moved, looking like a candle flame as it caught the light from the lava and the daylight streaming in from above. Obi-Wan stared at it, its motion.

Whispers shivered over his ears in a language that wasn't his. He tensed, shrinking, and his heart started to hammer. The shape, he realized, was Anakin. Fear clawed at the base of his skull, and he shook his head at the sibilant sounds.

A tall, tan shape emerged into view next. Then Aylee, her blonde hair loose and unmistakable. Her strides slowed, and she turned to face him. He stared back, though they were all too far to make out faces. It took a breath to notice the silence. A few heartbeats to feel his own pulse slowing.

 _Hello._

 **AYLEE**

Anakin severed the comlink, leaving them all in silence. Aylee blinked blearily in the boy's direction and let her head sag back against the wall. Her weight slide into the floor. She missed the moment when she dipped into sleep and jerked suddenly awake again.

The aches through her bones had dulled to a throbbing that made her hands feel twice their size. Tir-Zen scooted close, until their arms bumped, and Aylee sank toward the pillow of his shoulder. They needed rest. Both of them. He'd been—

Through an ordeal. And his _hand_ . . . She should fix his hand. Just a little focused power. A little . . .

Aylee's fingers twitched in her lap but did not reach for the hand Tee cradled against his chest. Sleep spread cobwebs through her mind, catching thoughts half-formed. Motions aborted. She rested, barely conscious of Tir-Zen's breathing taking on the deep and even cadence of meditation.

A murmur from Anakin.

And then nothing.

A dreamless dip in the dark cut short by a disturbance in the Force. She felt it like a cold wind and spasmed into wakefulness as goosebumps spread across her skin.

"Master?" Tee whispered.

Aylee lifted her cheek from his shoulder with a grimace and watched the way he held his good hand over his injury, expression furrowed with concentration.

"Are you—?"

"Trying," he replied, words tight.

Force healing was no small feat. Anakin sat cross-legged in front of Tee, head in his hands, watching.

The chill touched the nape of Aylee's neck again, and she realized the source.

 _Ben._

Something was wrong. She let her head fall back against Tir-Zen's arm and focused her mind, opening her emotions to those flowing across the bond. Sadness. Despair. Loss and fear. He'd been wrestling with those lately. But not like this.

 _There's no way back_ , he said, after a string of desperate babble.

 _Can you go forward?_

It seemed an obvious, stupid thing to ask. Something dull and heavy to give his thoughts friction. Those spirals . . .

She knew those spirals.

The quality of thought and emotion shifted, and she could tell the moment his thinking broke free.

 _I can try_.

Aylee smirked into Tee's tunic. Such a setup!

 _Do or do n—_

 _Don't._ Chiding.

A laugh bubbled out in an audible croak, and she pressed herself up to sitting. Tee lowered his focusing hand and glanced over with a question on his face.

"What?" she asked, when the boys exchanged a look.

"We thought you'd be asleep longer," Anakin replied. "Like, hours."

Aylee frowned at him. "How long was it?"

The boy's eyebrows shot up. "A couple of minutes?"

"How do you feel, Master?" Tir-Zen curled his hand against his chest as he pinned her with a look of concern.

Aylee's chest pricked with sweet pain. So . . . backward that he should be so concerned. It wasn't his job to take care. And yet all he ever did, one way or another, was take care of his wayward master. She had to look away. And then rolled her shoulders experimentally.

They felt warm with use, and heavy, but she could lift and turn her arms with only minor trembles.

Something deep in the rock groaned, and the three of them jerked their gazes to the lifted wall as it began a slow, grinding descent. The floor stones vibrated with the scraping, and Aylee sat transfixed as the ancient machine lowered untold tons of rock with steady inexorability. It did not fall into place or land with a thunderous boom. The craftsmanship had been exacting, and the wall simply ground on its track until the edges met, and the hum of the machinery in the walls ceased.

The silence in the narrow passageway grew thicker.

"Well," Anakin said, still staring at the wall. "Guess we're not getting out that way."

Tir-Zen snorted.

Aylee found herself nodding at the wall, then at the boy, resolve tightening in her gut. She rolled onto her knees, grimacing at the effort, and struggled to her feet. She levered her hands on her knees to uncurl her spine. Tee got to his feet with less effortless grace than usual and hovered close, his good hand ready for a swift catch.

"Master . . ."

She sucked a breath and steadied. "We have to keep going."

"But—"

"But _you_ need a medbay. And Anakin's right." Aylee gestured at the wall. "We can't go back the way we came."

"You need rest."

"We _need_ to keep going. We came here to do a job. Let's do it."

Tee scowled but pressed his lips shut. He offered a tight nod, and Aylee bowed her head in relief. Walking _and_ fighting would've been a tax too far.

Anakin trotted past them toward the only passageway—a dark rectangle set into gray polished rock. A crystal set into the ceiling flared white as he approached, setting off a chain reaction down the hall that practically screamed "walk this way." The boy glanced back over his shoulder, eyes wide. Aylee gave him a nod, and he took his lightsaber from his belt and stepped cautiously forward.

They fell into line behind him, Tir-Zen, then Aylee.

"I don't sense anything," Anakin whispered, and kept a steady pace.

Indeed, neither did Aylee. She couldn't decide if that was good or bad.

The hall made one right angle turn, and they all stopped at the sight that opened before them. A room as massive as the last but brilliantly lit and lined with pedestals. Aylee touched a hand to Anakin's shoulder as she moved past him into the space. He jumped and darted forward, waving his hands back at them to stop, to wait.

"What's wrong?" Aylee froze.

"I— Uh." He spun in place looking around at the perfect pillars. "I don't— I don't know . . . But I'm supposed to protect you . . . so I have to go first."

A small smile touched Aylee's lips. Obi-Wan _had_ made him promise. She inclined her head and gestured for him to go ahead with . . . whatever he planned to do. Anakin gripped his saber hilt and turned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Tension tightened in Aylee's chest as she watched him prowl between the rows of columns, investigating. He might have made a promise, but he was still a padawan. Ben's padawan. The duty went both ways.

After a minute of quiet snooping, as Anakin moved partway between one row of pillars and the next, the color of the light emanating from the crystals around the room turned instantly, simultaneously red. Aylee's body tensed, and Anakin froze, not even glancing back over his shoulder while he waited for a threat to manifest. Tir-Zen lowered into a crouch and called his saber to his off-hand, cradling his injury so at least his elbow could be of some use.

The air around them shook. The deep clanking of a turning gear thundered through the space, vibrating up through the floor, and a blade of red light sliced out of the far wall, a seam opening to reveal a vaguely humanoid outline many times a human's size.

Cold dread dropped in a sluice down Aylee's spine, and she felt the Force shove at her limbs with cold, violent energy.

A metallic voice blared from the ancient droid as it heaved its weight forward and stared to roll from its stone casket. A single red orb on its squat head glowed, pulsing as it spoke.

Aylee stared at it.

"Master!" Anakin widened his stance.

It sounded strange but familiar. Repeated its phrase and thundered toward Anakin, gaining speed.

"Master Desai!"

Anakin ignited his saber, the piercing twang lost under the thudding rumble of the droid's spherical drivetrain over hard stone.

The words twisted, accent slipped, and suddenly she _heard_ it, the words crystallizing into familiar patterns.

"Oh, no . . ." she whispered, and lunged into a run.

 _"The exhibit is closed,"_ the droid croaked a crude imitation of the Sith tongue.

"Stay back!" Anakin shouted at it, twirling his blade around his body in a defensive display.

Additional red lights flared across the droid's shoulders, bringing tight beams to bear on the padawan in its path. Doors flicked open across its chest, sprouting blasters, and short red lightsabers sprang from its hands.

 _"Threat detected. Intruder alert!"_

It armed itself in seconds, faster than Aylee could make it to Anakin's side to pull him away. "Anakin, no!"

But the boy was fast, too.

He drew back his left hand, dropped his blade out of the way, and threw Force at the oncoming droid with a roar of effort and anger.

The droid let out a low harmonic whistle of surprise, and Aylee stumbled to a stop as it rocketed back in the direction it had come, body and rolling sphere hurtling away as though shot from a cannon. Anakin howled, screaming at it as it flew. As the machine slammed into the wall above the alcove it had come from. As it hovered there, held by the force of his will. As its armor plating dented, dented, _dented_ until the light of its eye went out. And then as it crashed to the ground in a sharp cacophony of screaming metal and popping sparks and the red lights around the chamber flicked back to white.

Anakin dropped his hand, panting furiously, and Aylee tore her eyes from the wreckage to look at him. She felt her heart in her throat. Pulse wild. And stepped very careful around the boy into his field of vision. He shook, curled on himself, and jerked his lightsaber up toward her movement before lowering it back down, but not turning it off. He scowled out at the curator droid and then down at his own hand, quivering as he turned the palm up.

"I don't—" he breathed. "I don't—"

"Easy," Aylee said gently, her hands up in calming contrition.

"I feel—" His lip curled with a snarl.

"Put the lightsaber away," she said, pacing her words.

"But—" Anakin gestured at the vanquished threat, still heaving with power. It splashed over him, as he stood a sudden mountain in its path.

"You did your duty," she told him. "We're safe."

He met her eyes and repeated the words as though they were fresh puzzles.

Tir-Zen, cautious, at a distance, kept his eyes on Anakin and breathed loud and slow. He wasn't subtle, but the boy fell for it anyway, and his shoulders started to sink as his breathing fell into rhythm. Anakin flicked the lightsaber off and let his arm fall to his side. The scowl smoothed from his face, and he offered Tee a small smile and nod for the assistance in regaining his control.

He slipped from his fighting stance and cast Aylee a guilty look that sank straight to glum.

"Sorry, Master," he muttered, sagging.

For losing his temper, he meant. Obi-Wan would have had a few things to say about it, she imagined. But. Obi-Wan wasn't there. She gave the wreckage a glance.

"Are you always able to do that?"

Without lifting his chin, the boy checked on the still smoking heap and then shook his head. "I don't—" He turned his hand over, staring at it. "Never like that."

She nodded and moved close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. "The Dark Side is strong here, and it wants to be used."

"I'm _not_ on the Dark Side!" Anakin jerked from under her hand and spun, anger flashing across his face. "I'm _not_!"

"I didn't say you were! Tee feels it"—she gestured at him—"I feel it."

Emotion fluttered through him, licking flames of doubt. "You do?"

Tir-Zen moved to Aylee's side, nodding and looking grim as he held his bandaged hand close to his chest. "It's like pressure wanting to be released."

Anakin nodded at that, tension melting from his shoulders. "Do you hear them?" he asked quietly.

Aylee exchanged a look with her apprentice, and they both shook their heads.

Anakin sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his temple for a moment, breathing steadily. He mouthed the words of the Code a few times to get himself under control. They let him have his silence and stood patiently until he straightened.

He looked somber, but calm.

"I'm going to see if there are any more surprises," he said, and turned to continue the way he'd been going, before moving sideways to another row of columns.

When he crossed out of sight, Aylee stepped among the colonnade with a glance to Tee. Follow. Be watchful. He nodded wordlessly and fell in a pace behind.

There weren't columns, really. Columns reach high, generally as architectural supports or flourishes. Aylee reached a hand to nearest one, her fingers touching on inset gold laid into the top surface. Kittât writing, same as on the outer door.

"Garu's Shield," Tir-Zen said quietly, piecing out the sounds.

Aylee nodded, frowning at the empty surface. "Tritos Nal forged a sword for Sith Lord Garu. One of his most famous works."

"But a shield?"

Aylee shook her head, empty of even the smallest anecdote. A sinking despair yawned as she moved to the next pillar, eyes darting for the text. "Kressh's Mirror."

"This one says 'Warcry Stone,'" Tee said, his voice a few feet away.

Aylee lifted her gaze and turned in a slow circle as her insides clenched until they ached. Of course. Of course, she knew what this was. What the droid calling itself Keeper, no, _Curator_ had been saying. She had spent countless hours in places just like it. A museum. A vault. Of Tritos Nal's creations, placed on display for those worthy to see them, maybe even touch them. After his death . . . study and venerate them.

She turned a second time.

And they were gone. All of them, gone.

No Endless Gem, no treasure to return to the Council in triumph.

Despair splashed cold onto her scalp and ran down, down, filling up to her knees, her gut. She clamped a hand over her mouth and leaned the other against a stone pillar for support.

"Master?"

She met Tir-Zen gaze with glistening eyes. Didn't he see they'd failed? All this effort, chasing, plotting—a nerf herder's flight of fancy. She pried her fingers away and tried to summon the words to tell him. To drive it home. But Anakin's small voice echoed through the empty chamber while her mouth hung open and mute.

"Hey! I think I found something! Master Desai?"

Aylee rounded in the direction of Anakin's voice, her heart thumping hard. Tir-Zen led the way with his longer strides, weaving his way around the taller displays to the unlit edges of the room. Anakin's shadowed shape stood out from the glow of his lightsaber as he held it high, waving it back and forth in front of the wall.

He turned as they approached. "It says something, but I can't read it." He moved his saber for emphasis, shifting the shadows across Sith writing carved into the wall above a large and ominously black tunnel.

"Slow," Aylee said, gesturing at him. She frowned in concentration as he moved the light source in a steady, slow sweep, and then let out a breath in huff. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

Anakin glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

Aylee offered a deadpan look. "It says Landing Pad."

The boy whipped his head back around. "You mean—"

"There's a back entrance." She'd have been mad if she had the strength for it.

"Or," Tir-Zen said, stepping closer. "A simple exit for those who've proven themselves." He cast a sidelong glance. "Like us."

Aylee bobbed her head at her padawan's wisdom, even if the bite of failure still bled.

Anakin peered up at the entryway, angling the light from his saber to see the walls. "Are we leaving?" he asked.

Empty-handed.

Aylee shook her head a little. Tried not to think about the wound on Tee's hand. What . . . might have happened.

Worse than empty-handed.

"Yes," she said eventually.

Anakin nodded once, lowered his head, and marched forward, his weapon leading the way. His foot touched the floor in front of the doorway, and the vault's exit came to life. The dark text carved into the wall flared into brilliant white crystal, and red stones set flush in the wall revealed themselves, back-lit. Just inside the tunnel another light flared on, and a second letter a whole line of them lit in rapid succession along with stripping along the floor. _This way_ , it said, clear as a written sign.

With a little laugh, Anakin looked back at them, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. He flicked off his saber and led the very well-lit way.

The sweltering air turned stifling. Then dangerous. The walls radiated heat like a giant kiln, and only thermokinetic manipulation kept them from baking alive. It should've been no shock that a boy from a desert planet knew the technique instinctively. Aylee wasn't sure Anakin even realized he was doing it. He turned to give them concerned looks as their pace slowed with concentration.

Even so, sweat pooled at Aylee's knees and slipped down her temples. Tir-Zen panted with effort. It was a delicate thing, balancing the violent energy of the Dark Side against the ever-increasing heat. Too far, too fast and they could slip from deadly heat to deadly cold.

A red glow against the inner wall should have given it away. Or the growing sound of hissing and thick bubbling. The stench. And yet somehow, it was still a shock when the passageway opened to a loggia carved straight into the caldera.

Fucking Sith dramatics. Of _course_ the exit would march through the heart of an _active volcano—_ with a scenic overlook for kicks. The heat redoubled, and sulfurous gas permeated the air. But there was light, too, from where the mountain opened to the sky. Anakin hurried ahead, straight for the ledge to get a better look.

"Don't—" Aylee called after him, waving a hand.

He slowed and stared upward, but not like he'd heard. As she emerged into the open space, Aylee felt a tug, an intuition, and turned to look up the interior wall. A dark outcropping shaped like a knife jutted into the bowl of the crater. And near the point . . . a figure in white.

Her pulse surged.

 _Hello_.

And she smiled at the voice in her head.

 _Fancy meeting you here._

"It's Obi-Wan," she said aloud, pointing, and the padawans turned to look.

 _Slight problem,_ he said, and she saw him step further to the edge. _There's no way down. And it's too far to jump._

Aylee scowled up at the distance, the smallness of his form. She felt the chill of the Force rush against the backs of her knees, violent and powerful.

 _Only if you do it alone_ , she said, and backed up a few paces.

He was silent a moment. Then, _If I miss, it'll be a very short swim._

 _Don't miss._

She felt him smile. Agreement enough.

Aylee reached out with the Living Force within until she felt the shell of his being, the sizzling vibration of the life within. She paused and concentrated. On the heat shield. On the reaching. Pressing gently across the bond until the film of their separation dissolved.

That was key. The snapping, popping, the sudden clashing of Force and consciousness. That was too much. Brought the universe too close and the selves too mingled. But a dissolve . . . controlled . . . became a siphon. She sent power, and the flow of the Force shifted around her being, diverting its path to him. Through him.

It felt like the air being sucked from her lungs. Like standing against the backwash of an endless wave. She forced her eyes open to watch.

He disappeared from the edge of the ledge.

A sudden smudge of white darted into the air. Up, up.

A flip at the apex.

Then falling—so far, so fast. Her pulse pounded in her ears, while she couldn't move. Not while lending him her power. She couldn't watch. Had to watch.

Dust scattered away before he hit. And everything jumbled, happening too quick.

The siphon snapped off, slapping her with the sudden shift in Force. Obi-Wan's boot hit the landing, and he dove into a controlled roll and came up running, propelled in Aylee's direction by sheer momentum. A heavy bag flapped against his side, and Aylee caught him by the arms, spinning them both as he laughed and panted. She dug her fingers into his tunic and gripped hard. Proof he was real. Whole. She found herself smiling and fighting the urge to brush the hair back from his forehead. They turned like a dance as the song ended, rocking and slowing, and Aylee loosened her grip.

He took a step back and braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"That was . . . fun," he said, and grinned up, face red from heat and exertion.

"Master!" Anakin barreled between them and started for a hug but checked himself. His arms hung awkwardly in the air for a second before he dropped them. "I— Uh." He cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're okay."

Obi-Wan straightened and set a hand on his padawan's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you, too," he said, then shifted his gaze, searching. His expression darkened when he caught sight of Tir-Zen holding a bandaged hand to his chest, and he met Aylee's eyes.

Emotion passed between them in an instant. Gratefulness. Worry. Comfort. Determination.

"We shou—"

"Where does—"

"A landing pad," Aylee said, and Ben spun at her words to look down the tunnel.

"Another entrance?"

"We're thinking a quick ex—"

Thunder drowned her out, and they all glanced up as the mountain shivered and rained down flakes of dust.

Aylee scowled, and her body responded to the alarm with a rush of adrenaline. "What—"

Two more impacts. The ground shifted, and they all ducked taking wider stances.

The comlink on Anakin's belt flashed and crackled.

". . . ster Anakin! Master Anakin!"

Heads swiveled to the voice of Anakin's droid.

"Master Anakin!"

"QB?"

"They're here!"

Above, more thunder. And something cracked. A deep concussive break that pushed the air from their lungs. Black rock fell from the interior walls and splashed into the magma pool. White crystals fell from their sockets and shattered on impact.

"Who?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"Mizzul!"

Wide eyes turned to Tir-Zen, who shrugged innocently.

"What—" Anakin tried to say.

"They're shooting at it!" QB squealed.

"At . . . the volcano?" Aylee stared at Obi-Wan.

The air seemed to go almost still for a moment. A held breath.

An explosion flattened them all. The deafening sound. The concussion. The light crystals cracked to pieces and fell from the ceiling. Magma surged up and over the side of the landing in a slow, gooey wave.

Aylee's ears rang to deafness. She saw Anakin shouting at his comlink and scrambled to get to her feet. She hauled Tir-Zen up and shoved him toward the tunnel exit. Grabbed Ben's arm and pulled him while he pulled Anakin. The whole mountain shook and _kept_ shaking.

The piercing din of the ringing gave way to the growl of falling rocks.

"They hit one of the defensive cannons!" Anakin said, shaking the comlink. "QB!"

"I lost your signal, but I've got it now. I'm bringing the ship around, Master Anakin."

"He can do that?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin shrugged and kept moving. Dust and small rocks broke free from the tunnel ceiling. The sound of clashing boulders got closer.

A cave-in.

The Sith had hollowed out the mountain. Made it nothing but a brittle shell, now disturbed. Now falling in.

They ran.

They ran, and the spine of the tunnel above their heads broke.

Aylee threw up her arms in an animal defensive gesture, heart pounding, and the Force rushed out, an instinct gained through training. She caught the boulders as they fell. Pressed them back into place. Made a bubble that the others gathered into.

Panting, she stood straighter and purposefully planted her feet. The Force rushed at her back and down her arms, and she wove her hands through a pattern ingrained in her muscles, printed on her bones. Like a bane, but physical. The Force dug claws as it swept by. Ripping violence.

Bombs or blasters.

Shaking showers.

"Tee!"

"It's falling in!"

It wasn't the weight it was the pieces. The number. Rocks and dust and boulders and spaces.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said quickly. "You're going to need to carry me."

"What?" the boy squeaked.

"She can't do it alone. And I won't be able to walk if I help her."

"But I—"

"Use the Force. Figure it out!" His voice wavered with the effort not to shout, keeping panic in check.

Aylee pressed her eyes shut and focused on the stone. She saw visions in flashes. Tee crushed, his skull caved. Ben screaming, bleeding.

She would not.

 _They_ would not.

The mountain rocked, and she felt the weight in her knees. Tears gathered and fell as she strained to hold the pocket open.

Then a touch. Sparking and warm, like a hand between her shoulders. A flare across the bond, a query, a quest. It was barely a decision to let him in.

Aylee gasped and went rigid as the new flood of Force rolled across her senses. Her knowing expanded, and the waters, the waters became _everything_. Every sense of a physical body carved away under the torrent. No sight. No sound.

She did not feel Tir-Zen heft her into his arms. Did not see Anakin bend under his master's weight and light the way with a floating saber. She was will, fine as stardust, pressing the thought of wet hands to drying sands to keep their shape.

Galaxies in a grain of dust. And so many grains of dust. She could feel them all. Hold them all in their perfect lattice.

 _No one dies._

She tried to hold her thoughts together. Remember the purpose. Save her boys.

 _No one ever really dies._

 _No . . ._

 _This mountain will_ not _fall. Yes . . ._

 _Be a stone . . ._

 _Be a mountain . . ._

 _Be the darkness between the stars._


	24. The Night Vesper

**AYLEE**

She dreamed of heat.

The melting sensation of cold fingers warmed by a crackling fire.

Of a beach, skin tanning under the rays of a yellow sun.

Mingled breaths and sticky sweat.

And darkness again.

Aylee moved toward the warmth. Not conscious. Just . . . seeking. And finding . . . time passed out of mind.

When the heavy dark receded again, she roused slowly to the feeling of a body pressed close and made a small sound, stretching as she snuggled closer. So nice to be warm. Comfortable and safe. The weight of sleep pressed down again. But . . .

"Aylee?" Her name, whispered so gentle.

She stretched again and opened her eyes with effort, squinting at a bright shock of white lights. And then Ben's face as he leaned over, filling her vision. She blinked at him, marveling at the way the light illuminated his tousled hair. He took a quick breath, and her heart skipped at the glisten of held tears in his eyes. Such beautiful eyes.

"Aylee?" He asked again, his voice thick and rounding the sound.

"Hi," she said, smiling, worried at the tears. Was something wrong? It must be. Her body felt heavy, languid as she reached to touch his face. Soothe away whatever—

He burst into a little laugh that shared a gasp with a sob and pressed their foreheads together. Aylee stilled and took accounting, then. She lay in her bed on the _Vesper_ , stripped to thin underclothes, Obi-Wan stretched at her side, almost fully dressed. She could feel their bare feet touching.

What—

His frame racked with an unsteady breath, and he touched her cheek, fingers trailing hot, gentle lines she felt curl into her stomach. She felt the heat off his skin, from his sighed exhale.

"It's been three days," he said. "I wasn't sure you were going to wake up." A confession unspooling into a chuckle of relief.

He was so _here_ , so close. So brimming with emotion. Aylee slid her fingers into his hair and urged him back just a little. Just to breathe.

"What happened?"

"What happened?" he repeated. Blinked down with red cheeks and lashes flecked with tears. He kept stroking her cheek, her chin, grinning and trying to control himself. "You held up a _mountain_ ," he breathed. "You saved us."

Another feather stroke of awestruck wonder.

He needed to stop with the touching. Heart-fluttering tingles flooded her fingertips. It wasn't _fair_.

She focused on his words instead—you held up a mountain—and shrugged, remembering thunder and dust. "It was going to crush you."

He laughed and drew back, shaking his head before meeting her eyes again. "It was going to crush _you_ , too."

Aylee shrugged a second time and stilled her fingers in the small hairs at his nape. She gazed at him, heart pounding, until that jolt of intimate connection hit her spine. "I didn't care about that," she whispered.

He swallowed and closed his eyes. Absorbing a confession more profound than she'd intended to make. Her hand felt suddenly awkward, and she let it drop back to her chest. Small expressions flickered across his face, ending in a slight smile. And then he stretched, shifting his weight on the bed, to place a kiss on her forehead.

Soft lips and a bristle of lingered.

And she shut her eyes against the urge to respond.

It wasn't fair. Lying like lovers. Legs pressed.

She closed her hands as he moved to place another kiss on her temple. Slowly. Then cheek. Anointments. Blessings . . .

Goosebumps flashed across her skin at the subtle scrape, and she couldn't help that it made her nipples hard, body electrified.

She did not move.

Barely breathed.

And Obi-Wan lowered his head to the curve of her neck. Hesitated. Warm breath washed over her skin, and she clenched her fists tighter. Waiting . . . He had to choose. Waiting . . . She couldn't push him.

When he finally succumbed it was a moment not of fearful hesitation but stunned wonder, a decision born not from wanting of her, but finding that long-locked moment of wanting in himself—and turning the key.

He closed the gap. A tentative kiss. Light.

Aylee let out a breath and dropped her shoulder—a small motion of invitation.

More lips. Harder. Wetter with confidence. He shifted for a better angle, and she felt it the moment he _ignited_. Affection to passion. Caution to the stars. Sought the soft, tender spot on her neck. Flicked his tongue until she shuddered. Harder until she moaned.

Light. _Scrape._ Light across her throat.

She touched his face to make him pause, and he gazed down with blown-black eyes and quickened breath.

"Are you sure?" Her own voice sounded distant over the thudding of her heart.

Ben nodded.

"Say it."

"Yes," he replied—a breathy whisper. Never looked away.

 _Yes. Yesyesyesyesyes._

Relief-speckled joy burst through her chest, arced across the bond. Aylee arched to kiss him. A long, melting, glowing touch. She sucked on his lower lip and hauled him on like a blanket. Felt him smile at the handling as he straddled her hips and braced himself with one hand. Courteous. Distant.

She flung her arms around his neck to pull him down, closer.

"I can take the weight," she whispered, and scored his lip lightly.

A moan escaped him as he dipped closer, seeking her mouth, and let his weight settle. Deliciously solid. Grounding. Of _course_ he was.

Aylee's fingers found his hair, already messed. Tugged as he kissed the other side of her neck. Licked— _pant—_ sucked. She curled her fingers, squirming, and made a sound at the tickle of his beard. He pulled back, breathless, and smiled. Part confusion, part amusement.

She chuffed his cheek with the backs of her fingers, and for just a moment he frowned.

Then . . . _enlightenment_. A flash of his eyes and a devilish smile, and then he brushed her hand from his face and caught her fingers. Dipped back toward her neck with controlled purpose. Nuzzled first to make her shiver. Laved.

Aylee moaned. Let herself abandon restraint so he would _know_. How good— How—

She pawed at him. So many clothes . . .

Obi-Wan kissed his way to her lips and then hovered. Hot breaths. Close, dark eyes.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he whispered and smiled faintly. Light fingers touched gently at her hair.

Aylee smiled at him, her heart bursting. So open, so trusting. She could destroy him after such an admission. Had, once, to someone distant past.

"I do," she said, and tipped up to meet his lips. "Sit up."

He did so, folding his legs so he sat on his heels, weight settled across Aylee's thighs. The same posture as on a meditation bench. And he gazed down with matched focus. His hands fell to his sides while he waited—a good student.

How could any one person be so devastatingly handsome, painfully kind, cynical and innocent and deadly and just. Aylee brushed her fingers along his jaw—his eyelids fluttered—and pressed her palm to his cheek. He leaned into the touch, never breaking eye contact, and she felt the echo of yearning across the bond. _Yes . . ._ The grip of his knees tightened, and it lit a fire in her belly spreading to her groin.

She glanced briefly down to the buckle on his belt and took it in both hands before looking up again. There were no last chances, no now or never. He could stop this here, if he wanted. She might melt into a pool of tears. But he had to know, had to understand he had choices. She paused. Waiting. Hoping. Shimmering with a desire she hadn't felt in a long time.

Ben offered the faintest of smiles and nodded once.

Aylee slid the leather strap through the buckle with clumsy fingers and dropped the belt to the floor. While she was unconscious, he must have removed the pouches and clips. Had they been sleeping in the same bed?

The fabric of the sash felt soft but strong under her hands as she circled his waist and sat up some to reach. He rocked into the pressure, perhaps unconsciously, and smiled again when she tugged at the sash ties. They came loose. And Aylee passed the fabric around. Unwinding. Opening a gift. He let himself be revealed in slow layers.

The sash joined the belt on the floor.

Obi-Wan looked away as he reached up his back for the seam where the tabard came together and pulled the whole thing off in a slithering slide of rough fabric. He pulled the tunic off and dropped it in one easy motion, leaving just the thin undershirt that matched Aylee's own. The v-neck that couldn't hide the dark hair on his chest, revealing just enough to be teasing.

Aylee made a pleased sound, and Obi-Wan flashed her a smile.

"I'm glad you think so."

She resisted the urge to touch just yet. "I'm sure lots of people think so."

He chewed on a smile and hooked his fingers under the hem of the shirt, stripping it off. Then met her eyes. "I don't care what lots of people think."

Stars above . . .

Aylee pulled them together, sliding hands on new-bare skin. She found his mouth. Warm. Pliant. Kissed him hard as he pulled her close. Her breathing went short and quick at the feeling of strong hands on her back and waist. So _many_ years. . .

She broke the kiss and nuzzled at his jaw. "Lie down," she whispered.

They rolled in the small space with nimble strength, and Aylee found herself kneeling over him. Just the pants left. She pulled at the drawstring, preparing for a sudden stop, an anxious hand on her wrist. Instead, Ben exhaled with an audible shake. He watched her hands, like his life depending on her hands.

Aylee shimmied back and off the bunk and made little ceremony of adding another piece of his clothing to the pile on the floor. She swept him with her gaze once, quickly. Only the thin underwear remained, a mirror of her own, doing nothing to hide his growing erection. She paused with her fingers just under the waistband. A query—are you really, _really_ sure about this?—wrapped in a span of silence.

He lifted his hips, and Aylee's heart pounded, body burned as she skimmed the last article away. She added her own clothes to the pile with swift efficiency and crawled back into place between welcoming knees.

She gazed at him, feeling her pulse in her fingertips, and endless possibilities flowered open. A canvas of untouched skin. Hard, wiry muscle. Unmarked moles. Secrets he may not know he had. She could take her time. A long sensual exploration.

The ache in her body, though . . .

Demanding attention . . .

Some. Give him something.

She put her hand to his calf, hovering her palm so it just touched the hairs. Tracing ghostingly up to his knee before making contact. Ben smiled a little and closed his hands into fists at his sides as he watched.

Aylee squeezed lightly on his knee. No sudden jerk. No ticklish response. She filed that away and moved on, pressed her palm up his thigh in a slow caress. His breathing changed. She glanced up as she brought her finger down over the tender flesh of the inner thigh. Careful of what she touched—did not touch. Ben's lips parted, and he dropped his head back with a ragged sigh.

Such a good look on him.

Her body pulsed with a tightening ache.

Aylee leaned over him, letting their bodies slide. He rocked at the contact, the sudden friction on his cock she had otherwise ignored. Aylee caught his mouth in a kiss, tasting a moan.

"You can touch," she said, and hands slid up her sides onto her back, swirling aimless.

She kissed lips. The corner of his mouth. Blazed the same trail he had on her. Down the neck. Laved and rolled her tongue. Pressed with wet-soft lips. He groaned and swallowed hard. Gasped as she found the tender spot, then sucked.

He arched.

"Th-that feels—"

 _I know._

And _flicked, flicked_ her tongue.

"F-fuck," he breathed.

 _Soon_.

Fingers dug into her flesh, and she eased off. He dropped back, panting, letting the tension go. Aylee traced down his chest, watching his lips part as she moved a fingertip in a slow, gentle circle. Hard to tell if he liked it. Or just liked being touched at all. His hands on her body stilled, waiting. And she moved on. Reaching into the heat between them with curious fingers. Wrapping her hand around him with light, measured pressure.

Obi-Wan sucked an unsteady breath and rocked before he could stop himself.

Aylee leaned down until her lips brushed his ear. "What do you like?" she whispered.

He swallowed audibly. "I don't know."

A smile, nosing at his ear. She squeezed and stroked up, dry skin sliding. His breath quickened.

"How do you do it yourself?" she asked, and watched color spread up his neck and splash across his face, as he pressed his eyes shut tighter.

Stroked back down.

He let his hands fall to the bed and curled his fingers.

"You can tell me," Aylee said, husk and coaxing, flexing her wrist. "Or I can find out for myself."

A small smile spread across his face, eyes still closed. "Interesting interrogation technique."

She squeezed his cock a little harder. Stroked him slow. "Like it?"

He arched, his reply folded into a grunt as he tried to control his response as she swirled her palm up over the tip. And then suddenly let go. Ben's eyes flashed open in surprise, his body still canted, seeking. Aylee grinned and arched at eyebrow at him.

"Yes," he breathed. A little short. A little desperate. The _need_ in the sound turned the ache in her body sharp.

So long wanting. After remembering what it was to want.

She took him in her hand again. Kissed as she stroked. Hard, hot velvet.

Ben found something to do with his hands. Touched her face and buried his fingers in her hair to hold her just there. Just in range of an eager mouth.

Aylee tightened her grip— _stroke_ —and he broke the kiss to let out a thin moan. Dropped back with a shudder, and she could _see_ a Jedi's discipline sliding down across his face. The concentration. Control. He frowned, bit his lip, forced himself to breathe through his nose.

A man couldn't get harder than he already was.

And the ache in Aylee's body . . . Heavy to painful.

"Should I be"—a flex of hips—"doing something?" Ben managed the words in staccato and squirmed, trying to be still.

She hadn't told him to be still. To restrain himself. And it was impossible to know if that was him or _them_. A sword was the iron. A sword was the forging.

She slowed and pressed their cheeks together, bringing her lips close to his ear. "Just try to keep up."

When she drew back, she saw he'd opened his eyes to narrow, wry slits, and she didn't fight a grin. It was little effort to shimmy back, guide him into place with the one hand. They locked gazes as she pressed herself slow . . . slow . . . back. A shiver of shock rippled up to her shoulders at the feel of him entering. Opening. Burning and alive.

She let her eyes close and felt for purchase on his shoulders. Sighed long and loud as she took him in, the ache inside sharpening its nails.

Together.

 _Connected._

She paused, letting them both adjust, and Obi-Wan stroked his hands up her thighs in long circles. A breath.

Two.

"Please tell me you plan on moving," he said, breathy.

She met his gaze with an arched eyebrow and _squeezed_. Hard.

He let out a surprised grunt as his hips jerked, and she rocked up, dragging him through a slipping grip. There could be art to this. A planned journey of pleasures. Explorations. The study of a body's knowledge—a corpus yearned to share.

She sank back down, rolling her hips. Let a sound fall as he sparked on nerves. Her knees went hot. Muscles warming to liquid.

There could be no art at all.

Animal. Instinctive.

Fuck _thinking_.

She flexed.

Fuck _worry_.

Dropped back.

She knew the pulse of waves. Like life. Like blood.

Set a rhythm— _fuck—_ for him to keep.

He arched in perfect time, and she gripped his shoulders harder, fingers sliding on damp skin.

Red-dark stars shone in her belly. Gathering heat. Gaining strength.

She ground down harder. _Fuck._

Faster. _There._

Lost track of her voice. Her words.

A whimper. _Yes._ A cry. _Just right._

The red light glowed. Then burned. Turned her legs to hot jelly.

Her arms quivered, and she dropped to kiss him. Sloppy. Needy.

He lost rhythm, and she _moaned_ at the loss of friction. Broke away, panting, and shoved back, pinning him hard to the bed.

So close. _Gasp._

A little more. _Glow._

Tight, bright straining. Aylee rocked, rocked, quick flicks of motion, so his cock would would just—

She jerked and clamped her knees to his hips. Moaned. Panted. Felt the spasm of pleasure rush from her core to her fingertips. Her tongue. She braced motionless above him as he let out small mewling sounds in time with the pulse of her aftershocks.

She breathed.

Breathed . . .

And slowly shifted her hands to stop holding him down. Dipped in for a kiss, languorous and satisfied.

"Your turn," she said against his lips and slid a hand to the back of his neck.

 **OBI-WAN**

Obi-Wan found himself quite suddenly on top, still buried to the hilt in a hot, pulsing body, Aylee's delicious moans still ringing in his ears. Her pleasure had run caramel waves across his skin as it bled over the bond, blotting out his own sensation. Until a kiss called him back, demanding his attention. And now here, braced above a lover's body, her hair a spill of sunshine across the pillows. Skin flushed as her chest rose and fell with quick excitement.

He skimmed a free hand up her belly to a breast. Palmed it to feel the shape. The weight. He hadn't paid _nearly_ enough attention. She arched a little when he scraped a rough thumb over the nipple and wrapped her legs around his waist with urging pressure. She watched with dark eyes.

Sweat clung to his hair as he held himself up with one arm and explored with the other. Light fingers over breastbone and the hollow of the throat. Aylee's eyelids fluttered, and she ran her palm up his arm. Squeezed him tighter with her knees.

This was good.

Or bad.

He didn't know but memorized the response for future ponders.

He had done as asked. Kept up. Clamped down on the bubble of need building inside and strove for control. One of the cornerstones of endurance was control. Of form. Of breathing. Running. Fighting. Mastery of the body by the mind.

Obi-Wan drew gentle fingers up the thigh wrapped around his side. Smooth skin, damp despite the chill of the ship. Sweat slipped from where their bodies pressed together.

Aylee let out a soft, short laugh when he touched the outside of her knee and wriggled to shake his fingers off.

"Really?" he said, and arched an eyebrow. Ticklish there. Good to know.

She narrowed her eyes. "Were you planning on moving, or . . .?" She _squeezed_ on his cock for emphasis.

Obi-Wan's eyes fell shut on their own, and he caught his weight on both hands as pleasure hit his spine. Could you forget being _inside_ someone? And yet . . . so many _distracting_ things.

He rocked back and thrust in slowly, experimentally. He had been along for the ride before, but now . . .

 _Quicker._

Tight sheathing heat.

His body knew how. He let it find a rhythm. Experimented with force.

Lights flashed behind his eyelids. Aylee dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him down to kiss. Drag her teeth across his lips and lick away the sting. He panted, harsh, into the space between them. Snapping. _Stars._ Striving into her spine-melting heat.

The bubble inside grew. And his resistance to it grew. A reflexive distance. The harder he tried, the further it felt.

His strokes came faster. Harder. More desperate. The small space filled with the slap of flesh and hard breathing. He wheezed, _trying_ , and screwed his eyes shut.

Something cool touched him through the Force. Aylee's presence seeking connection. Too intimate a connection. He couldn't—

"Don't," he managed, panting.

That was chaos. Too much. Too _much_ of the universe. He couldn't possibly keep it all together, and kept shaking his head after the sensation had already fled.

Aylee ran her hands up his back instead. Still urging motion. He was _in_ motion.

A spike of frustration, and he thrust hard. Aylee gasped and dug her nails into the small of his back.

And he could breathe. Small pins of pain struck at the bubble, and it was like shattering a crust. Shivers of pleasure flaked into his blood, and a sound escaped him, a moan of relief. Aylee dragged her nails up his back and he arched into it, quivering as the ache in his cock and body throbbed.

He relaxed.

And they did it again. A bite of nails. A stroke. He made a weak sound and felt his joints going liquid.

Rake.

Stroke.

Rake.

Obi-Wan shook at the onslaught. Pain and pleasure, blending. He lost his grip on the bubble. Gasped in surprise, and jerked hard, burying himself as it burst.

 **AYLEE**

Obi-Wan curled into Aylee's shoulder with a moan that stretched to a sob. She pulled him close, fingers deep in his hair, and stroked his back where she imagined her nails had left marks, threading a bit of healing Force to soothe any lasting sting. He tensed, tensed, breathing ragged into her ear, and she gathered him tightly as she could with knees and legs until the rush of orgasm had passed, and he relaxed into a leaden weight.

His breathing evened, and she released her many grips, settling into her own honeyed languor. After a moment, he withdrew—Aylee grimaced at the final drag across sensitive nerves—and dropped onto the bed beside her, staring at the ceiling.

"Well," he said, still breathy and glancing down at himself slicked with sweat and lubricated, "that was messy."

Aylee chuckled. "Look at that. Still you."

Ben smirked and lifted an eyebrow before closing his eyes. It took ages to marshal the will and strength to move, but Aylee shifted to lay on her side, gazing. Watching his chest rise and fall with ever slowing cadence. His cock soften. Normal, human things.

"What?" he said, voice low and dreamy.

A smile touched her lips. "Just taking in the sights."

After a slight pause. "Am I?"

"What?"

"A sight."

Fierce affection burst under her skin. Aylee felt it warm her eyes. "My favorite one." Her voice came out a little thicker than usual.

Obi-Wan cracked an eye open and glanced at her, and she looked back, steady, no wisecracks or humored smiles. It was true, and he should know it. He swallowed, and a blush gathered across his neck and upper chest, normally hidden. He took a breath—

"You don't have to say anything," Aylee told him, and he relaxed again, looking deflated. Perhaps she should have let him. But it wasn't a competition. And she wasn't trying to wring compliments.

After a moment of awkward silence, he reached over to touch her face, dragging gossamer fingers over her cheek before pressing his palm to her skin. His thumb caressed the shape of her mouth, and their gazes connected. Lingered until the intimacy made her heart skip.

He smiled. Stars, what a smile. And then sank back, letting the crook of his elbow fall across his eyes as he drew away.

Aylee's pulse raced. And she stretched out beside him, propping her head on her hand. The _Vesper_ 's engines hummed—a vibration one could only feel in a moment of stillness. Evaporating sweat left her cold; and with a warm, welcoming body so close, who could resist? Why resist?

She touched a fingertip to the smooth skin of Ben's stomach and began to trace an aimless shape across the hills and valleys of muscle. They tightened in response. A twitch. A tensed muscle elsewhere when she found a sensitive spot. He breathed deep and even while she explored, hip to belly to chest, and dropped his arm when she splayed her fingertips across his breastbone, playing with the texture of the hair there.

It was a beckoning gesture, and she moved in close, resting her head on his shoulder and entwining their legs. She kept moving her fingers in lazy circles and focused on the sound of his breathing.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly, watching her movements.

At first, it seemed like he wouldn't answer. Then, "Your fingertips."

She laughed a little and lifted her head to look at him. He looked asleep. "Good answer."

His mouth twitched to a grin, and Aylee lifted her hand away, bending instead to place a kiss near his collarbone.

Ben hummed. "Your mouth."

She smiled against his skin so he could feel that, too, and settled back down on the pillow of his shoulder. Aylee ran her fingers over the shape of his ribs.

"Fingertips again," he muttered.

She laughed, and clung to him laughing until he made an amused sound himself—a little puff of self-satisfied air. As the mirth ebbed to drowsy lassitude, Obi-Wan took her hand in one of his and entwined their fingers before dropping them to rest on his chest. The quiet of peace dripped into her blood, measured by minutes. Aylee flexed her fingers to prove she was awake. Paying attention. Experiencing every breath.

Ben squeezed on her hand in reply, and she felt him reach through the Force, gentle and glancing. And even so, she sighed in pleasure.

"Do you know what you feel like to me?" Aylee asked, peering at their hands.

His hair rustled against the pillow as he shook his head.

She smiled a little. "A warm wind off the desert. Calming. Cozy."

Ben huffed a laugh, a smile in the sound. "You feel like the opposite."

Aylee jerked to stare at him. "Cold?"

"What? No! I—" He exhaled and shut his eyes, visibly bringing his thoughts into order. "That's not what I meant," he said evenly, then peered at her, blue eyes piercing to the heart. "Like . . . a cool drink on a hot day. Like . . ." He searched her face. "Relief."

Her scowl melted into a smile, and she settled back down, nestling against him.

"Nice save."

"I _meant_ it."

"I know." She kissed at the closest patch of skin, and time turned malleable.

There was little to mark the passage but heartbeats. No chronos on the ship. She could only guess by the color of the light that they were synced to Coruscant Standard Senate time and it was daylight there. Space had a way of stripping time of all normal meanings. Planets had cycles. So did stars. But vast liminal distances simply swallowed up the seconds of life they could not support. Dayless. Nightless. A void, well and true.

She could have stayed. Could have let herself fall back asleep draped across Ben's body. And woken, surely, with sore muscles for her poor choices. Could have luxuriated in this dream somehow made real. She wouldn't have pressured him. Wouldn't have asked. Swore to herself to abide his decisions whatever they were, knowing that a good Jedi could only ever make one choice.

And yet . . .

And yet . . .

Her heart thudded hard and seemed to grow twice its size, aching against too-tight ribs. Her throat tightened, and she felt the hot edge of tears behind her eyes. Something in her breathing must have changed, because she felt Ben shift and pause before hugging her a little harder and kissing her hair.

He didn't ask.

And she loved him for that, too.

A few wiped off tears later, Aylee pressed herself up and glanced down at Obi-Wan, who watched through hooded eyes. He offered a questioning look.

"We should get up. Get dressed. I have to tell Tee I'm awake."

"I'm pretty sure they know," he said gently.

She frowned at him in confusion, and his grin turned wicked.

"You aren't exactly quiet," he said.

Embarrassed heat crept across Aylee's face, and she disentangled their legs. "Yes. Well." She slid to the foot of the bed and nudged him out of the way to stand. "I still have to _tell_ him, don't I?"

Obi-Wan propped himself on his elbows, watching as she plucked her underclothes from the pile on the floor. Aylee put a little extra sway into her walk as she headed toward the refresher to get cleaned and returned still effused with that calming sense of satisfaction and energy from good sex. Obi-Wan lay naked on the bed where she'd left him. Sleeping, it turned out.

She let him sleep and got dressed quietly as she could. Her gear had all been stashed in the placement and order she'd have used at home, and she wondered if that was Tir-Zen's handiwork or if Ben had been paying more attention to the small things than she realized. Tunic. Tabard. Belt. The embroidery on her tabard felt slick and cool as she brushed her hands down it, settling everything in place.

The belt tugged to one side, off-balance until she took her lightsaber from the drawer and hung it from the clip. The familiar weight shifted the pull of the leather, and all was indeed well. The world had shifted— _chaos, yet harmony—_ and yet her footing felt as sure as ever. The Force moved with its customary current as intimate as blood.

She slid the drawer shut carefully and turned to look at Obi-Wan's sleeping form. Affection bubbled up into a small smile across her face, and she reached for the blanket on his seemingly unused bed. Aylee draped it over him gently and gave herself a moment to memorize the look of unburdened peace on his face.

Aylee stepped into the lounge, one eyebrow lifting at the thump of music coming from the cockpit as the door swished closed behind her. She gave the space a quick scan. Tir-Zen sat at the table where they played chal'tek. His head bobbed to a different rhythm than the one coming from the bottom deck, and a thin stream of smoke curled up from the exposed guts of a droid strewn across the work space. QB2, maybe?

He was using both hands to hold wire and a soldering gun.

Surprise carried Aylee forward two heavy steps, and Tee jerked at the movement in his periphery. He glanced over, nearly dropped the gun, and then fumbled to set everything down and tap the music player on his wrist.

"Master!" He jumped up as Aylee rushed him.

"Your hand!"

She took it carefully in both of hers and examined where the split, burned skin had been. His palm still bore some discoloration, but the wound had healed over, and it didn't even appear swollen. Aylee looked up at him with wide eyes.

"How—"

"Several days and a lot of bacta." He shrugged and slipped his hand from her grip. "Anakin's been practicing the healing technique, too."

She nodded, absorbing the words without really taking them in. He was fine. Just as Ben said. And healed and whole.

"No other . . . problems?" she asked, searching his face. Her fingers itched to touch his chest and rest above the left heart, but she stopped the motion halfway.

Tee's confused expression softened. "No," he rasped gently over a grin, then stepped closer and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, Master."

Thank you. _"Thank you for almost getting me killed. Thank you for almost letting me die. For putting me in pointless danger."_ Doubts and thoughts lashed quickly through Aylee's mind, and she hugged him a little tighter to ward them away.

When the embrace ended, Tee settled himself back on the chair in front of his project and gazed at her, calm and ever patient. Aylee turned slightly to glance back at the door to their quarters and tried to piece together the correct way to approach the lurking mynock. Embarrassment would not stop crawling up her neck, no matter how much pride she threw in its direction. They were adults. They could make choices.

And love was never the wrong choice.

"So . . ."—she turned back, unsure—"you . . ."

"Heard?" Tee offered, looking just a little smug at her discomfort. "We did."

 _"We?"_ Mortification sliced from her belly to throat, and she shot a look across the room toward the cockpit.

"I sent Anakin down to monitor the ship. And . . . turned some music up."

She could feel the bass buzzing through her feet and stared at the handrails leading down to the lower deck. The mortification burned hotter, and she straightened her spine with purpose, turning slowly back to face her clever padawan. It had been thoughtful of him, really, in what must be an awkward situation. Her gaze flicked again toward the room where Obi-Wan lay sleeping.

"Please don't be weird about this," she said, any stern authority she might have tried on draining away.

Tee's eyebrows shot up. "Why would I be weird?"

"Zotah?" Aylee hands went to her hips, and she found herself suddenly looming with accusation.

"I was nine!" Tir-Zen shot back, turning up his palms. "And he was Eben's father!"

"You made it weird." Aylee scowled at him. "On purpose."

Tee pressed his lips thin and bobbled his head, not arguing.

Aylee let her hands fall from her hips. "Please? I like him."

"I like him, too."

"So. You won't be weird?"

He averted his eyes and shrugged a little.

"Tee."

"Extra training sessions."

She blinked at him. "Are you . . . bargaining with me?"

Another little shrug, but he looked back her way, trying to hide a smile. She gave him a deadpan look, and her voice dripped sarcasm.

"I'll have a talk with the weaponsmaster."

The grin burst into a smile, and his fiery eyes danced."Then I will try, Master."

Her shoulders sagged in relief. She didn't _need_ her own apprentice's approval. But his disapproval could prove troublesome for everyone. Tensions. Jealousies. No one was immune to these things. Not even Jedi. Not even after a lifetime of conditioning.

Aylee reached out and hooked a finger around Tee's left front horn, tugging gently. "Thank you," she said softly with a wry twist to her lips.

He grinned, shoulders lifting.

Something niggling pulled Aylee's attention back toward the cockpit, and her fingers sagged against Tee's scalp, threading between his horns.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as it clicked into place that they were in hyperspace and had been since she woke up. Plus three days.

Tir-Zen tipped his head up to look at her. "Nowhere. We've just been picking planets at random and following a well-mapped course. Away from the Howling Tempest, that was all. Master Obi-Wan—" Tee hesitated, and Aylee met his gaze with a curious expression. A sad sort of look passed over his face. "He wouldn't head back to Coruscant. And . . . he stopped answering our questions. He just . . . meditated." Tir-Zen flicked his eyes toward the door. "And wouldn't leave."

Pain squeezed in Aylee's chest as she imagined it. Ben sitting vigil. Trying to make a connection. Failing. Continuing to try.

Tir-Zen went on. "Anakin's been trying to open the holocrons—"

Aylee's attention snapped back, and she tilted Tee's head to look him in the eyes. "The what?"

"Holo . . . crons?" he repeated with wary skepticism.

Her pulse quickened as she stared at him.

"Master Obi-Wan found them," he added.

Aylee's eyes went wide and her mind spun, kicking up dust. "We . . . have holocrons. From Tritos Nal's workshop?" She spoke the words as though each one might crumble in her mouth.

Tir-Zen nodded, wordless at her expression.

"Why didn't you tell me!"

"You've been—"

She whirled away from him and rushed for the ladder.

"—in a coma," he finished, raspy voice drowning out as she descended into the wall of sound.

 **OBI-WAN**

A twitch. A missed stitch in the fabric of a dream, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes to the lowering light of dusk. He was alone in the crew quarters and glanced at the blanket that slid from his shoulders as he propped himself up. He hadn't put that there . . . but could imagine who did.

Impressions of dreams filtered into the back of his mind, disappearing behind the murk of waking. Silken warmth and hot whispers. And peace.

He tossed the blanket aside and sat up. Last he could remember it was approximately midday. Aylee had gotten up, leaving him to his thoughts and gold-spun heavy limbs. He rolled his shoulders and couldn't help grin at the way his muscles felt alive. Well-used.

His clothes lay stacked in poorly folded bundles on the opposite bunk, and he snorted lightly. It _was_ probably time. He hadn't intended to fall asleep, much less nap the afternoon away. But it was a day for unintended things.

Obi-Wan dressed slowly, taking care with each motion. If he concentrated on the present, on only this act, then there was nothing to think on. No consequences to ponder or philosophies to puzzle. Just the winding of fabric and the familiar slide of leather through a buckle. He brushed his hair into place with his fingers. And then, the task was done, and he stood alone in a silent, humming room.

A room he imagined not ever forgetting.

The place he became a traitor—didn't so much fall as set the Light aside deliberately. An act of a different faith. On Takodana, he'd felt the inklings of this peculiar freedom and waded into it with caution. But after those three days . . .

Torturous days.

What use was caution?

For now, for a short while as they hurdled through space in a tin-skinned bubble, there was no Council. No Temple. No rules of conduct. No duty but to his heart.

His thoughts turned to Qui-Gon, who had loved him with the quiet, steadfast pride of a father. A trust and confidence Obi-Wan struggled to feel, like a starbloom opening to the night of his master's absence. A love that had carried him, shaped him, set him on his life's path.

Satine. Forbidden for myriad reasons, but still . . . the first time he'd felt his stomach flutter in that particular way. The crack in the armor. The first doubt. The first awakening of the man behind the weapon. She had loved him with giddy, youthful hope and ferocity.

And now Aylee.

Aylee loved him with ecstatic virtue and galvanizing gratitude. Different than the others. He hadn't even noticed when it happened. When lively chats and challenging games became his favorite part of the day. When he started hoping in the smallest corner of his heart for something unpredictable, a new adventure, a shared look and an in-joke—all worth the risk of wrath.

There was no one moment.

He took a breath and closed his eyes, turning toward that sense of a waterfall bright flashing and spray. His heart quivered at it, trembled with a willing weakness. And he smiled, opening his eyes once again.

Obi-Wan took his cloak from the hook next to the door and eased it on, one familiar comfort in a sea of unknowns. He touched the door panel, and the metal leaves shucked briskly aside with a hiss. He winced at the sudden bright-blue light and stepped out into the lounge to find Tir-Zen standing alone—nearly alone—with QB2 hovering at chest height. Tee made no move to acknowledge his presence, and the ship seemed oddly silent. Maybe just his imagination, too keyed and looking for something to react to.

He watched quietly while Tir-Zen peered close into the droid's inner workings and very carefully inserted an auto-soldering gun. Tee held his breath, and Obi-Wan found himself doing the same in tense sympathy. Whatever he was doing took only a second, and then Tee sighed and set the tool aside. He picked up a piece of rounded plating instead, and Obi-Wan couldn't decide which one of them was waiting.

Was he supposed to _do_ something? Say something?

The thought struck him again that Tee had been out here the _whole_ time. He would definitely have . . . _heard._

Embarrassment slithered hot up Obi-Wan's neck, and he cleared his throat. Rather loudly.

Tee flinched and stopped what he was doing, looked over and tapped at a band on his wrist. "Master," he said, ducking his head and dropping his gaze in a small bow.

Ah. Music. So he _wasn't_ waiting. That was something. But . . . what came next? Did a shift in his relationship with Aylee necessitate . . . anything with her padawan? Surely not _permission_ , but reassurance, maybe?

Obi-Wan searched for something to say, hesitating while Tee peered at him.

Tir-Zen crossed the line first. He grinned a little and turned back to the droid. "She asked me not to make it weird," he said, and held the plating up to the droid's skeletal exterior.

"Oh?" Obi-Wan moved closer, watching the young man work. "And how's that going?"

Tee lifted one shoulder and cut a quick look at him. "It's a work in progress."

"I see," he replied, trying to hide a smile.

Tir-Zen held the plate with one hand and slipped a screw into a waiting hole before picking up a screwdriver. He worked in silence for a minute, under Obi-Wan's placid observation.

Then, "She said I'd get extra training sessions."

"If you didn't make it weird?"

Tee hummed in affirmation and plucked up another screw.

The corners of Obi-Wan's mouth quirked up. "I believe that can be arranged."

Tir-Zen just nodded, like he'd expected no less, and kept working. He finished attaching the plate and spun the little floating droid in place, giving himself access to a new side. This time he picked up something other than a piece of plating—a tube with wires coming out of one end. Anakin would know what it was immediately.

"How's he coming along?" Obi-Wan jerked his chin at QB, and Tee replied with several nods.

"Levitator engine is working again. Obviously." Tee gestured at it. "But he broke his manipulator flying the ship. It . . . wasn't designed to fly ships. Burned out the levitator and bent the arm pulling on the controls." Tee held up the little tube. "We decided to give it a real ship interface. If it's going to keep acting like an astromech droid."

Obi-Wan nodded at him. "That little droid helped save our lives. An upgrade seems the least we can do."

They fell into silence again as Tir-Zen worked, not needing assistance but not seeming to mind the company. He crouched, reaching both hands into the crammed space of the droid's interior and squinted until he found what he was looking for. Then his gaze drifted aside as he concentrated and worked by feel.

"You're good for her, you know," he said, a little quieter than even his usual.

Obi-Wan's gaze flicked from the droid to Tee's face. "Oh?"

Silence as Tir-Zen concentrated on his task and then straightened as he drew his hands free. He plucked a rag from the table nearby and rubbed who-knew-what from his fingers—probably grease. A serious look crossed his features, and he nodded a little before speaking again, his gaze lifting briefly from examining his hands.

"You don't see her when you aren't around," he said.

Obi-Wan gave the boy a wry look, which Tee ignored.

"It's difficult for her to focus," he said. "Or finish things. It always has been." Tir-Zen tossed the rag back on the table and picked up the remaining face plate. "The caf helps, if she has enough." He spoke as he aligned the plate and then stretched to keep it in place and pick up a screw.

A sound like a soft grunt escaped as Obi-Wan moved to hold the piece in place for him, and Tee offered a nod at the assistance. Obi-Wan cut a look at the boy's face, frowning in thought.

"Is that why you're always making it?" He gestured with his free hand. "All these half-empty cups everywhere . . ."

Tee shrugged, ducking his head. "Habit." He set a screw in and tightened it into place. "Ever since Besk, she hasn't needed it as much."

Obi-Wan watched him place another screw so the face plate would hold on its own and stepped back to give him room. He tried to imagine Anakin doing something like that. Keeping such keen attention to his master's needs as to appointment himself butler.

No.

Caretaker.

He watched Tee work with quiet efficiency, and pain plucked at Obi-Wan's heart as he remembered the sound of Anakin's voice asking him if he was okay. If he needed to go to the med bay. If he wanted to be brought something for dinner.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "I didn't know that," he said gently. "Thank you for telling me."

Tir-Zen nodded and smiled at him a little as he finished with the droid.

"But," Obi-Wan went on. "Why didn't she ever say anything?"

A shrug, and Tee inserted a cable from his datapad into a port on the newly installed plating. "I'm not sure she knows. It's just something I noticed."

A tap on the datapad made a round hole slide open on QB's exterior. Another and a scomp link extended, in search of a computer socket. Tee reversed the test and ran another on the manipulator arm.

"So," Obi-Wan said eventually to scare back the crawl of awkwardness. "How far are we out from Coruscant?"

Tir-Zen paused. "We're . . . actually not going to Coruscant."

"We're not?" Obi-Wan's gaze turned automatically in the direction of the cockpit. "Then where are we going?"

"Ossus."

His gaze whipped back around, sharp with shock. "Ossus! But—" How could— Why would— He flung up his hands. "But I thought the whole point of all of this was to _not_ go to Ossus!"

Tir-Zen lowered the datapad with measured patience and turned to look at him fully. "Not to be _stationed_ on Ossus. Permanently. It's . . . a fine planet." He frowned and gave the datapad his attention again, his voice turning ashen. "You're the one who gave her holocrons."

And what would an archivist do with something like that, but go to a library.


	25. Return to Ossus

**OBI-WAN**

Whoever decided to build a library on Ossus either had no respect for the vagarities of paper or complete confidence in the digitalization of knowledge. The city of Knossa lay under a thick blanket of kingwood, it's heavy stone architecture drenched with vines as the planet wrestled against the imposed order of its inhabitants. Structures fanned out on either side of a swift, gleaming river that sought its way from the high mountain valley to the southern most sea.

The _Vesper_ dripped condensation gathered from the low cloud layer they had passed through while landing, creating puddles on the space port platform, and the engines _ticked ticked_ as they cooled into stillness. The Jedi disembarked, masters first and padawans trailing. Obi-Wan took a deep breath of cool, humid air and scanned the bowl of mountain peaks visible beyond the trees.

"Over there," Aylee said, pointing in the direction of a fog bank. Or a cloud. Was it a cloud this high up?

As they walked, Obi-Wan stared at where the looming edifice of the Great Library was supposed to be.

"Stunning."

She elbowed him and lifted her chin in the direction of a lift platform just coming even with the landing pad. A man with ruddy skin in deep blue clothes with a silver capelet around the shoulders and matching kilt over his trousers stepped toward them. After a few paces, the man tossed his arms in the air in a gesture of triumph.

"Aylee! My dear!" he shouted, in a tone graveled by age. "We thought we'd never see you again!"

Obi-Wan flicked his gaze to Aylee's back as she quickened her pace and broke from their little group. He took a few longer strides to catch up and watched with a small smile as Aylee embraced the man, waiting for a turn at introduction.

"Goran, you look well," she said, holding the old man's forearms for a moment before letting go.

Goran smiled and put his hand over his heart, as though she had paid him the deepest compliment. He straightened and bowed.

"Consular, so lovely to see you again," he said, the formality all but painted on. He looked at Obi-Wan, and the shock of his yellow eyes clarified that he was not, in fact, merely human. He held the gaze, and Obi-Wan got the distinct impression that this man knew his weaponry well.

"And you've brought more Jedi," Goran said, looking back at Aylee with fondness. "Archivists?"

"Tourists," she clarified. Aylee turned slightly and gestured. "Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan bowed with his hands tucked into his sleeves.

"And Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin took a half-step forward and bowed, as though dredging up customs from a book somewhere. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said.

Goran's eyebrows lifted. "You too, young man," he said, serious and humoring all at once. Goran turned to look finally at Tir-Zen. "And you, Shadowmonkey . . . have you gotten taller?"

Obi-Wan turned a look at Aylee and mouthed, _Shadowmonkey?_

Tee returned a flat expression. "Unlikely. You just keep forgetting."

Goran pressed his hand to his heart again and gathered the gravity of a star. "You wound an old man, Tir-Zen."

Tee snorted and crossed his arms. "Well, if I see one, I'll apologize."

The old man's hurt expression shattered into a throaty laugh, and he looked at Aylee, still grinning. "Are you . . . back, my dear?"

He might have been smiling, but the pause gave him away. The depths to what he was asking, done delicately and with earnestness.

Obi-Wan liked him instantly.

"Just visiting for a couple of days."

"Ah," Goran said, relief relaxing through his manner. He turned and swept a hand toward the lift, beckoning them on. "Amli will want to know you're here," he said as they walked. "If you'll have time for a golddish?"

Aylee smiled at him. "We'll make the time, I promise."

"Excellent." Goran's sharp gaze swept them all. "Let me get you a hovercart to take you up the mountain?"

Aylee rolled her eyes. "I remember how to get a hovercart."

The old man's straight back hunched, and he scowled, grousing, "Will you. Let me. Host your guests? _Please._ "

"You have a spaceport to manage."

He stopped on his heel. Turned. And pointedly turned his head as though he couldn't move his eyes, scanning the landing pad.

The _Vesper_ sat parked—alone on the platform. And Goran turned back to meet Aylee's gaze.

"How ever will I find the time," he said, drawing the words out.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and started for the lift again. Goran stepped into the space at Obi-Wan's side that she'd vacated.

"No one comes to Ossus," he said with a conspiratorial dip in volume.

"So I hear," Obi-Wan replied, as they all gathered and the lift started to descend. "Although I also hear they should."

"Really?" Goran's look of shock seemed genuine, and he tossed a frown at Tir-Zen. "Shadowmonkey, what did you tell this man?" he demanded.

Tee held up his hands and grinned silently.

Goran rounded. "Master Desai! I was given to believe that Jedi do not lie."

She barked a laugh a briefly touched her fingers to her lips to still them. "Well I guess we know who told you that."

He narrowed his eyes and leaned in her direction. "A paradox, that's who."

She tried not to smile and shrugged instead. "I told him you have good food."

Goran swung back around. "That's"—his expression sobered—"true, actually. We do. One of the few resources this planet has to offer the galaxy."

"I'm looking forward to it," Obi-Wan told him, grinning.

The lift touched down at ground level, and they headed through an interior of polished stone, carved wood, and colored glass that cast geometric blades across the floor. A janitor droid buzzed as it made its rounds, but otherwise the spaceport was as Goran had described. Quiet. Outside, several men stood in loose circle near hovercarts attached to tall, limber, birdlike creatures. Plumes of purple smoke billowed up between them as they took long draughts from vapos. They all wore the same kilt and trousers that Goran did, with simpler shirts. None shared his coloring, though—one appeared to have skin somewhere between yellow and green, another peachy white, and a third the same tan as Tir-Zen. He hadn't noticed it at first, but now that they were closer Obi-Wan found he could feel them in the Force, shimmering in the way untrained children at the Temple often did.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin and found the boy staring at the men with narrowed, curious eyes.

"Goran, you'll have to forgive my ignorance. Your people, the Ysanna, are they descended from the Jedi who built the Library?"

The old man's steps slowed, and the rest of them followed suit as he clasped his hands behind his back. "Built it?" He shrugged a little. "Many people built it over many ages. But . . . from the ones who defended it during the Great Sith War, yes."

Aylee took a breath to speak, and Goran eyed her.

"Or, more precisely," he went on, "from those who subsequently survived the supernova that wiped Cron from the galaxy. Mostly Zabraks, Mirialans, Arkanians, a few Firrerreo, and even fewer humans." He watched as Aylee settled and smirked. "The radiation from that cataclysm killed almost everyone, and almost everything."

Obi-Wan repeated the list silently to himself and glanced out at the hovercart drivers."Those are all near-human species."

"Yes." Goran followed his gaze, and the corners of his mouth quirked. "All genetically compatible for interbreeding." He smiled broadly and tapped on an elongated canine tooth. "The ones that weren't . . ." A shrug. "Their populations were too small to maintain a viable presence. There's a monument in Progenitor Plaza surrounding Miman and Neritan."

 _Obelisks_ , Aylee's voice supplied through the bond. _I'll tell you later._

Goran's voice and cadence grew grave, and he slowed to a halt, regarding Obi-Wan with the quiet dignity of a man at peace with tragedy. "We recorded their names. Their species. And when they died. It sounds ridiculous now that they should have been stuck here. But all the ships had been destroyed in the war or the cataclysm. There were no resources left to build, even with the Library's knowledge at hand.

"The war moved on. And the galaxy forgot. The survivors were too busy finding food and viable shelter and trying to rejuvenate the ecosystem to focus on space travel. Although you'd think escaping the planet would have solved all that." He shrugged wearily. "It was only a matter of time for the more alien races. And even for the longest lived among them, their time eventually came."

Obi-Wan nodded and looked out toward the street.

"Does that answer your question?" Goran asked, ambling into motion again.

"Thoroughly, thank you."

He tried to imagine it. Dwindling to the last of their kind. No hope of escape.

"I should like to see the monument," he said suddenly, on impulse, and cast a look Goran's way.

"Of course. I can't give you the tour myself, but I'm sure we can find a . . . _suitable guide_." The old man peered across their group, pinning Tir-Zen with a look.

Tee cleared his throat and caught Obi-Wan's eye. "I would be happy to show you the city, Master," he said with a bow of his head.

They both then glanced at Aylee, who looked back and forth between them like they _might_ be mad.

"I've _seen_ the city," she said, one hand going to the satchel at her hip. "And I need to get to the Library."

"Anakin?"

"Definitely the city."

"Then it's settled," Goran announced, grinning.

The doors to the street slid open on silent tracks as the Jedi approached, and Goran lifted an arm.

"Kyn, you yotz, you've got customers!"

Kyn clicked and cooed at the aryx pulling the cart, and the creature slid to the left, deftly threading them through a line of traffic blocking an intersection. They didn't even smash into a pedestrian as the hovercart swung a little wide and over the sidewalk before jostling back onto the road. The driver _hup-hupp_ ed at the beast, and the were off again with a grating squawk of joy as the aryx found itself with a stretch of open road.

Obi-Wan clutched the cart railing in a tight fist and peered at the passing city around them. The trees made it difficult to see much until they drew closer to the core, but between patches of thick canopy he caught glimpses of obelisks against grey sky on one side and the hazy impression of a mesa on the other. Anakin leaned over the front of the cart, as close as he could get to the driver.

How old was it?

What was its name?

Was it a boy or a girl?

How fast could it go?

"Anakin! Let him work in peace!" Exasperation laced his tone, and Anakin dropped back while the driver laughed, and Obi-Wan made a note to tip generously.

They emerged into the sharp light of the city's core, cresting a ridge that brought them above the natural tree-line. Overcast skies scattered the blue and yellow light of the planet's twin suns, reducing them to discs of varying size and elevation on different horizons. Obi-Wan held out his hand and splayed his fingers, studying the strange shadows cast on the hovercart's floor.

"It doesn't get less weird," Tir-Zen observed, and Obi-Wan glanced at him with a guilty smile.

"No?"

Tee shook his head. "During swell they're here." He pointed to the eastern and western horizons. "Which makes the shadows . . ." He swept his hands down and crossed them. "Weird," he said again.

Obi-Wan nodded and turned to look for the obelisks again. He could see their full shape now: squared, tapered columns of white topped with something that flashed painful reflections as they drew closer.

"Master," Anakin whispered loudly, drawing his attention.

Obi-Wan turned to see Anakin watching the street, first one side, then the other, moving slowly as he scanned his surroundings.

What _—_

But then he realized his apprentice was watching the people as they drove past. More precisely, watching the Ossians watch _them._ As the cart glided toward their destination, passersby halted. Conversations ceased. Obi-Wan turned and saw heads swivel to follow their progress.

Alarm beat in his blood as a bubble of stillness spread around them—a precursor to menace—and Anakin smoothly edged closer, placing himself at Obi-Wan back.

Tir-Zen raised a hand toward the crowd.

"Why are they staring at you?" Anakin asked, his voice low, gaze sweeping.

Tee frowned at him. "They aren't. They're staring at _you_. They know me."

"Know you? All these people?" Obi-Wan deliberately breathed to slow his pulse as the moments where nothing happened stretched.

Tir-Zen huffed at his incredulity. "How many Zabrak Jedi do you think there are on this planet?"

Obi-Wan consciously broke their little defensive formation when Tee declined to join and instead lifted an eyebrow. "Just the one?"

A tight grin.

"You have to understand we're a living"—he searched for a word—"monument? Relic . . ." Tir-Zen shook his head, dissatisfied. "We're not the progenitors. Not _personally_. But we're what they've lost."

"They have some sensitivity. I can feel it."

Tee tipped his head in agreement. "But it's not enough to train. Not in generations."

Obi-Wan looked out at the nameless faces, the mottled tapestry of skin tones, hair, and clothes. He lifted a hand to wave at them, and the crowd responded like a living thing, shifting and rippling as people gasped, drew back, and lifted their own hands in reply.

"Just wave at them, Anakin," he said quietly.

"Hi! Hello!" Anakin gripped the railing and leaned over it, flapping his free hand. "You have a nice planet!"

Obi-Wan stared at his padawan for a moment, poised on the precipice of annoyance or amusement. He let his eyes fall shut and shook his head while Tir-Zen chuckled like rustling leaves. _Force guide me_ , he thought, and resumed waving and nodding at the people they passed, an eidolon of Jedi serenity.

The streets grew clotted with a thickening crowd as they drew nearer the plaza. Once distant, indistinguishable faces resolved into people. Expressions. Eye contact. Obi-Wan smiled at them and reached down to shake hand after hand, until he was just gripping loosely on reaching fingers as they moved passed.

 _Hello, hello,_ a chant set to autopilot.

Kyn slowed the cart to keep from crushing the gathering throng as voices shouted questions without waiting for a reply. They were so . . . happy. Honored. Awed, jubilant faces.

Obi-Wan's gut tightened with a souring heat, but he fixed the smile firmly and passed out greetings like candies, while Tir-Zen ever so gently urged a clear path for the aryx and cart. A bit of Force here, an invisible barrier there . . .

The driver clicked and whistled as the bird tossed its head and snapped a shining black beak skyward. It stomped in place. Feathers flared.

Kyn jumped to his feet. "Juma!" A note of alarm in his voice. "Don't you dare!" He clicked twice, and the aryx swung its head around to eye him, beak still tipped up as it trotted forward.

The bird's throat undulated.

The crowd kept chattering with greetings, well-wishes, questions.

"Juma!"

The sound didn't seem real at first. A low, vibration of a whoop that could have been an engine starting. Then another whoop, slightly crescendoed with a painful harmonic. The aryx's call gathered speed and power, and the crowd froze for a moment in shock before lurching away.

It grew loud. Ear-splitting.

Obi-Wan flinched when it hit a nerve down his side and slammed his hands over his ears as the creature shrieked its doppler cry, pounding forward away from the stunned, incapacitated crowd.

"Juma!" Kyn roared in anger and moved to haul back on the reins, but Anakin touched his arm and pointed for the obelisks and the plaza just coming visible beyond the traffic.

 _Good lad_ , Obi-Wan thought, casting a look around at the Ossians all clutching their heads and glaring. He did not attempt to wave, either in greeting or apology, and waited for Juma to run out of breath. A collective sigh rose from onlookers and Jedi alike when the great bird dropped its gaze and snapped its beak closed.

Obi-Wan lifted one palm tentatively, and nothing hurt.

"Well," he said, straightening. "That was effective."

The driver's shoulders hunched, and he half-turned, trying to look at Obi-Wan while keeping an eye on the road. "I'm sorry, Master Jedi. He's—he's not supposed to do that. We _train_ "—he faced forward again, raising his voice—"them not do that!"

Juma cocked a look at him and ruffled small, vestigial wings. He bounced a little with each step and lifted a low crest from the crown of his head down his neck.

Preening.

Tee chuckled quietly and leaned against the railing. Anakin turned to Obi-Wan with wide eyes and a hopeful expression.

"No," he replied immediately, and the boy's shoulders slumped.

Everyone between the hovercart and the plaza must have heard Juma's shriek, and they had an unmolested remainder of the journey. Kyn pulled the cart to a stop in a small parking area near the other hired transports. He turned to Tee as they all stepped down.

"I can wait, but it's extra."

"Wait. I don't know how long we'll be."

With a nod, Kyn kicked his feet up and settled in to relax.

Progenitor's Plaza stretched before them, set down into the earth not unlike Knossa nestled into its valley. Where the city at large flourished with broad-leafed greenery and mossy mounds, the plaza stood stark. Lifeless. The white obelisks dwarfed all nearby structures. What might have been a park surrounding their vast bases was instead an unadorned square paved in marbled gray rock. The walls stepped down toward the monuments, forming an amphitheater, and Ossians sat arrayed on the seats, eating, talking, napping.

Obi-Wan stared up at the pinnacles, squinting as a sensation like music wafted over his Force sense. Something harmonious. Peaceful. Not unlike the memory of Aylee's fingertips on his chest—the ghost of a sensation.

"What _is_ that?" he breathed, and looked to find Tir-Zen and Anakin several rows further down. He hurried to catch up with them. "You feel that, right?"

Tee grinned. "Meet Miman and Neritan." He gestured to the obelisks left and right in turn. "This was a sacred place long before it was Progenitor Plaza."

That _felt_ true. In the way that Korriz felt stifling and cold, this place felt . . . like home. Steeped and colored with the joy of many millions. Shaped by the meditations of so many Jedi minds.

They reached the bottom, and Tir-Zen started for Miman. He slid his hands into his sleeves and let his dark green cloak enfold his form, hiding everything but the unmistakable outline of who and what he was. He paused to give Obi-Wan and Anakin time to come to his flanks before continuing on.

"Miman and Neritan aren't technically the towers," he said. "You saw the glints at the tops on the way in?"

"I did."

Tee rarely took on a master's lecturing air, and Obi-Wan hid a smile seeing him don it.

"That's them." Tir-Zen tipped his head back, peering up, and then met Obi-Wan's studious gaze. "Adegan crystals," he said.

The shock rocked him motionless. "Adegan crystals? _Real_ ones?"

Tee nodded once.

"What are—"

Obi-Wan flicked a look at his apprentice. "Part of a lightsaber. The original component used before they discovered that ilum was just as deadly."

"But not just as good," Tee added.

"No . . ." Obi-Wan's voice came out breathy with awe, and he stared up the obelisks.

"Why?" Anakin said, looking between Tir-Zen and his master, and then staring skyward.

"Because adegan crystals are Force sensitive. That's"—Obi-Wan dropped his gaze and slowly scanned the plaza, breathless—"why this place feels like it does." Like a drip of caf and a heated bath at once.

"It also meant ancient Jedi formed a connection with their lightsaber. With that specific one because of the crystal inside."

Anakin frowned at Tee. "If they're so great, why did we stop using them?"

"Supply. Adegan is rare, and ilum comes by the cave-full."

"Rare, but still"—Anakin cut Obi-Wan a calculating look as he spoke to Tir-Zen—"exists?"

"Yes."

" _No._ "

"You _always_ say no!"

"You _have_ a lightsaber! We're not here to go on a crystal expedition so you can have a _cooler_ lightsaber."

The boy's face pinched into a scowl, and he marched off toward Neritan without another word to either of them.

Tension burned in Obi-Wan's jaw watching him go. The little muscle jumped, jumped, and then he drew a breath and let it out in a slow sigh. The calming touch from the crystals unwound his annoyance and grinding teeth, and he determined to let Anakin walk it off. No pet aryx. No rare lightsaber crystal. A foul day for a young padawan indeed.

Tee watched steady and quiet. When their gazes met, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"And I didn't even mention Ossus has mines."

Obi-Wan snorted softly. "Good thing, if we ever want to see the _Vesper_ again." He turned deliberately to face the obelisk and let some of the tension go with each breath. "If you don't mind," he said, lifting his chin toward it, "I'd like to take a closer look."

Tir-Zen bowed and then tipped his head at a corner of the plaza where several people sat on public meditation benches built from the same stone. _I'll be there_ , the gesture said, and Obi-Wan nodded his understanding. He watched for a moment as Tee walked away, bobbing his head at people who waved in his direction and lifting a hand every now and again in greeting.

Curious thing. And so unlike Coruscant.

Images of the Orange District fluttered through his memory as he approached the obelisk. Apprehension and silence followed Temple robes along those streets. He'd seen the same people several times on their corners or clustered by storefronts and never once spoken to them. Shame clouded his throat that he'd never thought to do otherwise.

The memorial to the last of their races circled the based of each obelisk. It was a simple thing. Carved directly into the stone and painted in black, so the lettering stood out bold and solemn.

A name.

A race.

A date.

A line rendered portrait.

He wondered why they hadn't opted for holograms but decided that there was a respectable permanence to the choice. No power source to fail or need maintenance. More permanent than the progenitors had been.

Obi-Wan paced slowly around, taking in each name. He did not commit them to memory. Just spoke them in his mind and gazed at their portrait, witnessing all that remained of them in the universe. It took two sides before it struck him, with a fumbled step and cool chill down the spine, that these had been Jedi. They had spoken the same oath he had—Odan-Urr's bastardized version that so simply, so cleverly spun acceptance into its opposite.

He paused and reached out a hand to trace the blunted edge of a name: Iimpav. Frenk. A reptilian species.

And someone who had always known they would never marry. Bear children. That their mark on galaxy would be only in the padawans they took into their care.

Every Jedi on Ossus would have made that oath.

And yet . . .

He let his fingers fall and resumed a measured pace.

And yet the Ysanna lived. The children of oathbreakers. Had every Jedi who survived the supernova lived up to their promises, Ossus would have been barren in a generation. Abandoned by the galaxy, cut off or forgotten, what padawans could there be to carry on any master's lineage, if they didn't make them themselves?

A rueful smile touched his lips. A Harch. A Wookiee. _Make padawans._ Even as he thought it, he felt the heat of foolishness in his chest. These names . . . and the many times grandfathered ancestors of the Ysanna were terrified survivors of a catastrophe, huddling close in the dark.

They'd been making _a life_ —an existence of meaning in the face of destruction. Those who could not carry on their species might have carried on the Order's teachings. But for how long?

He glanced at the year engraved for a Fosh and kept moving, letting the thoughts turn like a compost heap.

A generation, at best. Culling the population with a pool of celibates endangered all survivors. Under such pressures, the Code and the Order would serve no purpose. He stepped gingerly to the inevitable conclusion: any sane people would abandon it. He couldn't truly imagine a Republic without an Order, a galactic history devoid of the influence of the Force. And yet, even he could see the sense it would make.

Melancholia stuck to his boots as he paid witness to the last of the names and paced out to stand beneath the obelisks, feeling each muscle and bone in his feet roll and shift with the weight and balance of walking. He brought his attention to rest on his contact with the ground until he judged himself far enough to see both monuments at once.

Obi-Wan turned and glanced up briefly to mark his place, then let his eyes fall shut as he turned his attention to the Force. Miman and Neritan shone like beacons, brighter even than the bond. Their power swept across his skin with a light, steady thrill that made his hairs stand on end now that he let himself feel the full range of this sense. Calm clarity settled through his body, heart rate dropping into the familiar meditative zone.

His breathing deepened.

Slowed.

Thousands of Jedi had communed with the Force in the shadow of these crystals.

They remembered.

Something shivered in the glow of power, and Obi-Wan shifted his attention to Miman, curious at the flicker. Something like fear. Like darkness. An occlusion passed across its surface, and he felt the keen edge of sadness cutting in his chest and pulling heat to his eyes.

They _remembered_ in the way of stone. Silent witness to the rise of the Jedi's power on Ossus. Silent witness to the death and cataclysm, recording history in scars and cracks as the Force strained under the loss of so many lives. What were crystals but the sediment of ages transformed by sudden violence.

Miman pulsed with something, ringing through the Force. Reacting, Obi-Wan realized after a moment, suddenly aware that he had reached for its being the way he reached across the bond. Touched it. Struck it. And it replied.

Fascinating . . .

The brightness and ringing called, full of light and power that filled every bre—

Something skittered across the top of his foot.

Obi-Wan startled and jerked back, knocking off a flower that lay across one boot.

"Oh!" A woman, crouching, popped up, and they stared at one another.

His heart pounded in his throat, but he willed it slower as he frowned down at the flower and then up at the woman in bald confusion. She smiled tentatively and twisted her fingertips together. Black hair hung to her chin, and she had skin a few shades darker than Tir-Zen. Horns like Tir-Zen, too, only smaller and set in a half-circle around the back. A Zabrak with human hair.

Obi-Wan blinked at her, and she glanced away just long enough to stoke her courage and return his gaze. He gave the flower another look and then lifted an eyebrow at her.

"I think you dropped something," he said, grinning a little.

"No, I—" Her voice shook, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "It's for you," she said, forcing out each word.

"For me?"

Generally, people _handed_ one another flowers.

And, generally, to people they knew.

The woman took a breath and managed to look at him again. "I just wanted to welcome you."

A chord plucked beneath Obi-Wan's breastbone. "But . . . I'm just a guest. It's just for a few days."

She smiled quick and awkward. "That's what they say. But, you're here _now_. And—" She hesitated, but her fidgets stilled and expression turned serious. "Thank you."

Obi-Wan's puzzled looked deepened, and his lips parted to ask so many questions.

"For remembering us," she said.

Oh. _Stars . . ._

Obi-Wan stared at her as the chord struck again, harder, heat and guilt vibrating out into his bones. "I—"

"May I have your blessing?" she asked, rising confidence steadying her words.

He stood thunderstruck for a moment, processing her request. Then, "Y-yes, yes, of course." His _what_?

She waited, while he stood there like dumb rock, and then bit her lower lip before whispering, "The words. Can you say the words?"

The words?

What . . . could she possibly—

He must have looked like an idiot. Jaw dropped, frozen in place, utter confusion written in the ridges of his brow. Inspiration made him tuck his hands into his sleeves and bow his head at her. "May the Force . . . be with you," he said. The syllables tasted awkward, felt alien.

The Ysanna woman bowed her head in reply, smiling. "Thank you, Consular."

She turned to make a quick escape.

Obi-Wan frowned and spun to follow. "But I'm not—"

Words and breath left him.

As he turned, he saw the crowd filling the plaza coalesce into a winding queue. The woman disappeared into the mass, leaving only the flower at Obi-Wan's feet. Not even a name.

What . . .

Cold shock sluiced down his spine as the man at the head of the queue took eye contact for permission and stepped forward. He'd been waiting maybe ten paces back. A respectful distance. He closed it quickly and set bundle of orange blossoms at Obi-Wan's feet. Obi-Wan stared at him, rooted in place while his insides curled.

"We're honored you've come," the man said, rising. "May I ask your advice?"

 _Advice!_

He tried not to stumble over a yes and listened with all the interest he could muster away from the ranks of howling bewilderment.

And so it went. Petitioners came with questions, disputes, simple requests for blessings. They heaped flowers until the pile grew so high he had to step aside and start a second. They rained compliments and gratitudes on undeserving soil, and Obi-Wan grew used to greeting them, smiling, giving them the piece of attention they came for, withering under their adulation until he had parceled out so much of himself that he shook with weariness.

He would not have imagined that hello could be so costly.

The shadows across the plaza shifted and grew longer, and Obi-Wan scanned the area for the padawans he hadn't seen in quite some time. He spied them sitting in the stands, watching. Not at all helping. And waved them over, before flicking his attention to a little girl who trotted close with something that looked more like a vine than a flower. Which— Well the flowers hadn't been his idea anyway. She set the vine on the pile and shuffled closer, turning bashfully to check with her father every few steps.

"Hello," Obi-Wan said in his least scary voice.

The girl's jaw dropped, and her eyes grew impossibly wide. She froze, and Obi-Wan's brows knit in concern. It _had_ been his least scary voice. He crouched, muscles aching, and brought himself to eye level, grinning at the way her eyes tracked his movements while everything else stood still.

He tipped his head to one side. "What's your name?"

She blinked at him dumbly for a second.

"Neida," the girl's father prompted from several feet back.

She roused and clamped her mouth shut, her gaze darting to where his hands met clasped. She looked back at him, solemn as the dead.

"Can I touch your robe?"

Obi-Wan's eyebrows lifted.

"You—" It would be unkind to laugh. "Sure." He offered one arm, and the little girl pet him like a beloved tooka, before bursting into giggles and galloping back to her father. She flung herself around the man's leg, while he stared at Obi-Wan aghast.

"I—I'm so—"

Obi-Wan chuckled as he stood and waved aside the mortified apology. "Perfectly all right." He glanced at Neida. "I hope it was up to your standards."

She shied behind her father's leg, mewling with giggles, and the man gave up trying to peel her away, instead swinging his leg, daughter and all, and trundling out of the line.

Tir-Zen held up a hand to the next person waiting and stepped close with his back to the queue, forging a private space in the public venue. QB2 hovered just over his shoulder, white-blue lights slowly pulsing. Obi-Wan put a hand on the young man's shoulder and sagged into that small space, shielded by Tee's presence.

"Master?" Tir-Zen gripped his arm.

 _"So happy so see you." "So glad you're here." "So honored." "A great Jedi." "So wise." "So good."_

Obi-Wan squeezed between his eyes.

"I don't think I can keep doing this," he whispered, head still bowed.

Tir-Zen made a thoughtful grunting sound, and Obi-Wan glanced up to see him checking the sky. He then plucked a chrono from his belt, checked it, and slid it back into place.

"Can you do it for twenty more minutes?" Tee asked.

Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders and stood a little straighter. He threaded some Force into his muscles to ease the burn of strain and dropped his hand from Tir-Zen's shoulder.

"Why, what happens in twenty minutes?"

Tee smirked and swung to stand at his side. "You'll see."

Obi-Wan eyed him. "Since when are you cryptic?"

Tee motioned to the next person in line and didn't reply. Instead, he made himself useful, taking the flowers from the petitioner and placing them on the pile so she wouldn't have to stoop.

Twenty minutes disappeared into blessings and one request to settle a legal dispute for which Obi-Wan was wholly unqualified to judge, not that either party would hear of such silliness. They left satisfied. Somehow. Obi-Wan scowled as he watched them go, doubt prickling across his shoulders and tightening in his gut.

But they didn't turn back.

And accepted his word as law.

He looked toward the queue again, preparing to marshal a smile and pleasantries, but Tir-Zen took a half-step toward the crowd and lifted one hand. The warbling murmur of the throng died in a wave of silence, after a rapid susurrus of shushing traveled up the line. They fell to his command with distressing ease, and waited.

Obi-Wan felt his heart thumping in the sudden silence and cast a glance at Tir-Zen. The young man stood firm, gazing out at the plaza, holding their attention with the flat of his hand. What was he—

The light suddenly shifted, as though a cloud blotted the sun. But instead . . . candlelight. The warm glow burnished the plaza stones. Blues and greens popped into rich contrast. The trees surrounding the amphitheater waved and rustled with life and color the eye could nearly taste.

Obi-Wan stared around at the drastic shift and instinctively sought answers in the sky.

Tee slowly lowered his hand and glanced at the droid hovering near his shoulder.

"Now," he whispered.

QB2's lights swirled from white to green, and it hummed as it shifted positions, hovering in front of Tee's chest. A door popped open on its top, and it extended a small dish Obi-Wan hadn't seen before. It looked like a—

"Friends!" Tir-Zen said, straining his voice to a normal volume. The word rolled across the plaza like a dust cloud, amplified by Anakin's droid. "Master Kenobi wishes to experience as much of Ossian culture as he can during his stay," Tee announced.

 _I do?_

One eyebrow lifted at this proclamation, but he folded his hands into his sleeves and kept silent, watching Tee with what he hoped looked like mild approval.

"It's now golddish," Tir-Zen said, lifting his hands slightly to gesture at nowhere and everywhere. "And we wish to show him what that means in Knossa." A mutter boiled from the crowd at that, and people shifted in place and turned to one another. Tee swallowed and cleared his throat, grimacing. He rubbed at it, sparking another wave of wind through the sea grass. _Hush, hush . . ._ "I know many of you have been waiting for your chance. And we apologize that some must leave here disappointed. But there are many of you and only one of him, and we beg your indulgence."

Obi-Wan cleared his own throat then. "QB." He waved the droid closer and stepped up to what was effectively a microphone. He found himself lifting both hands as he addressed his audience.

"Friends!" he said, and felt the weight of their quiet regard. His throat tightened unexpectedly as he let his arms fall. "Your generosity has been . . . overwhelming," he said, and his voice cracked a little on the truth of that word.

"Wish them a pleasant golddish," Tee whispered in a rush.

He drew a breath and tried to sound wise, and as profound as his master might have done. "I wish you all a pleasant golddish," he said. "And may the Force be with you."

QB snapped its dish closed after a tap on the shell, and its lights swept back to their neutral white. After a moment of stunned silence, a rumble of displeasure shivered through the assembled crowd. The closest petitioner rushed forward and placed her flowers on the pile with a slight bow and a quick smile, but not a word. The couple behind her stared down at the bundles in their hands and then up long enough that Obi-Wan had to avert his eyes lest he encourage them forward.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them turn and meander away, flowers bumping against their legs as they wandered off. Once the ones at the front of the line had well and truly given up, the rest scattered like clouds.

 _Show's over_ , he thought heavily, turning to face the piles of flowers. Each one a judgment. An expectation. A hero's welcome.

Doubt coiled tight and hot in his gut as his gaze traced the delicate lines of blossoms in every shade. They fell on one another. Crushed. Blurred and blended into amorphous smacks of color. He forgot Tir-Zen, hovering patiently at his side. Forgot their promise to the crowd to indulge in a golddish, whatever that meant.

He felt the dark of the Special Collections archive. The singular spotlight piercing the blackness and the weight of everything unseen but unmistakably _there_ just out of despair of that one moment of pure knowing. Understanding that he lived a lie.

"Master," Anakin said, suddenly present.

Obi-Wan blinked and flinched as he snapped back into the present, and he turned slightly toward—

Toward nothing.

Toward where the urge to see Qui-Gon pulled his gaze before he remembered that he was the only master here. If Anakin found his aborted motion strange, he didn't say so, and they stared at one another for a moment, taking measure. The boy frowned first.

"Are you all right?" Anakin asked.

 _I don't know._

"I'm fine."

 _I'm an impostor_.

Anakin offered exactly the sort of skeptical look such a lie deserved, and Obi-Wan forced a small smile. Tir-Zen took a step closer to the larger pile of flowers.

"I . . .didn't know they were going to do that, when I brought you here," he said, expression tight with contrition. "And I don't know what we're going to do with all these."

They stood for a moment, blinking dumbly at mounds of flowers each as tall as Anakin. And then Obi-Wan's eyes drifted to the obelisks looming just beyond.

It crystallized in a moment. "I think I have an idea," he said, and it didn't feel like emptiness or doubt. He crouched and grabbed an armful and aimed himself at one of the obelisks, unsteady on weary legs, but determined.

It was a good idea. A _great_ idea. The perfect idea. It was what a good Jedi would do.

"Master!" Anakin's voice again, chastising.

But no. No, they were going to lay these flowers out for the memory of the dead. And they would honor the ancestors of these good people—

 _"Master."_

Obi-Wan stopped on his heel and spun. "What!"

Anakin stared at him, lifted one hand, and floated a whole pile into the air without looking away. He gestured at the levitation with his free hand.

"Fine." Obi-Wan turned back and continued. "Do it your way."

So they did. Obi-Wan laid flowers across the main approach face of Miman by hand, while Anakin jogged around the circumference of Miman and Neritan, scattering flowers with a flick of Force. They finished at nearly the same time. As they started back to where Tir-Zen stood waiting, Obi-Wan spied the radiant purple and red flower that the first woman had laid peeking around the corner of Neritan. He diverted to pick it up and secretly dared either boy to say anything or ask why. They didn't, just watched as he stuck the stem under the fold of his tunic so the bloom rested safely on his chest. Tir-Zen's lip curled with a slight grin.

"So," Obi-Wan said to him, feeling just a little more himself. "Golddish?"

Golddish at Kyn's mother's house was _not_ extra. And if she perished from pride over hosting a visiting dignitary, she would have it carved on her memorial plaque. Along with "I wasn't prepared, you'll have to forgive me" and "are you sure you don't want more?"

Ossian cooking was everything Aylee had described and . . . _more_ . . . than she had managed to demonstrate. More in a way he couldn't describe. Intensity. Lavishness. Abundance. Some bites rich. Some salty. Some sweet. And as they were leaving, a small cup of decoction pressed into each guest's hand.

Bitter, like leaving.

Sweet, like memory.

Anakin assured Kyn's mother it was the best meal he'd ever eaten, and for once Obi-Wan didn't think it was fanciful hyperbole. They gathered warm and sluggish with full bellies into the hovercart and sank onto padded seats.

"Get comfortable," Kyn told them. "The Library's a long trip."

Knossa glittered through the gaps of black leaves, a mirror to the starred sky. Nerit peered over the uneven mountaintops, its surface pale blue and dappled green. A once inhabited moon that hugged close enough to Ossus to betray its details to the naked eye.

Smaller. Dimmer. Mim bore a dark crescent as it caught Nerit's shadow from one of the twin suns and a second crescent from Ossus and the other sun. Obi-Wan stared up, drowsy and fascinated by the pattern as Tir-Zen explained Ossian astronomy to the best of his knowledge. Astrophysics wasn't a particular interest, and Tee quickly fell silent.

The hovercart jostled as the aryx darted around something in the road, and the lights on either side of the street grew further and further apart as they passed into the Knossa suburbs.

"Arms and legs in the cart," Kyn said, his voice a sudden crack in the silence. He turned in his seat to check on them, then flicked a switch on a small console just within reach of his right hand. A force field hummed into being around the hovercart, closing them into a bubble, save where the reins needed to pass through.

Obi-Wan glanced up and around at the shimmery orange energy, wariness battling against the drowsy languor. "Are we in danger?" he asked.

"Danger?" the driver laughed a little. "Only from the cold. From here, it's straight up into the mountains."

A glance at Tee confirmed this assessment, and Obi-Wan let himself sink back down into that blanket of fuzzy contentment.

"Gonna open him up now," the driver said.

Open . . .

What?

He made a series of clicking sounds, and then the cart lurched forward. Obi-Wan slid into Anakin before catching himself on the railing. Tee flailed a bit, before finding his balance. And the cart fairly flew, the hover mechanism gliding over uneven ground. Aryx couldn't fly but stars they could _run_. Juma squawked and chattered as they broke out of the treeline and ascended a path lit by ground-level holoprojectors.

They slid up the slopes like black ice, Juma's feet thudding on the ground and night creatures croaking in the darkness. Obi-Wan couldn't tell how fast they were going, and when he looked he saw no sign of the Great Library anywhere ahead of them. Knossa drifted down into a pool a reflected stars in the valley, until eventually it disappeared entirely, cut from view by mountain crags.

No one spoke. And after a time Anakin sank against Obi-Wan's side, rocked to sleep by the swaying motion of the cart. The scent of the flower still tucked near his chest filled Obi-Wan's senses, and his thoughts stepped back through the day, bringing him snippets of conversations. Faces. The gut-churning terror that somehow at least one of them would see beneath the robes. Beneath the tunic. And the smile. And the lightsaber. And _know_.

Every time, he was sure they would discover his shameful truth.

And every time they asked for his blessing instead.

He breathed unsteadily and turned his face toward the cool waterfall in the Force. Let the sensation touch burning cheeks until the tightness in his throat loosened. He could've sent words. Thoughts. But he imagined she was busy doing what they came here to do.

"Mirel's out tonight," Tir-Zen said softly.

Obi-Wan looked in his direction and saw Tee slouched low on his seat, legs stretched out and crossed while he gazed at the sky.

"Mirel?" Obi-Wan's voice croaked, and he did not have to feign interest in a distraction.

Tee pointed up through the orange film of the force field, tracing a shape that made no sense from any angle but his. "The Huntress."

 _A constellation._ Obi-Wan glanced up and tried to imagine where Tee had been pointing. Despite the shading of the field, he could see myriad bright stars and several that looked extra red.

"Goran used to take me up on top of the spaceport tower and show me their stars. They're all Jedi, you know. Or, almost all."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Aylee let you come down to the spaceport at night?"

Tir-Zen snorted. _"Let . . ."_ And then proceeded to point out another constellation, with Kyn's assistance.


	26. The Great Library

**OBI-WAN**

Despite every reason he should have been prepared otherwise, Obi-Wan still found himself surprised when they arrived at the Great Library and there was nothing to greet them but a hulking stone edifice whose silhouette blacked out the stars and glowing crystals marked the doors. Their driver bid them farewell as he left them in the courtyard with a comlink channel to contact if they had further need.

No one arrived to show them in.

Nothing much moved at all.

Somehow, he'd always thought it was like the Archive. Older, sure. But _alive_.

Anakin kept bumping into his side as they followed Tir-Zen to a small door cut into the massive ceremonial ones. Mountain wind cut knives through their many layers while Tee worked the lock and ushered them in.He shoved the door shut behind them and waited while they stared at their surroundings.

"Ruins . . ." Obi-Wan breathed, incredulous at the broken boulders, toppled stone shelves, and remnants of smashed tables that littered the hall before them. He couldn't quite fathom . . . " _This_ is the Great Library?" He looked up and saw stars through gaps in the ceiling, while his stomach dropped toward the floor. "You _lived_ here?" He turned to Tee, wide-eyed and voice light with horror.

"You coulda moved this stuff," Anakin said, stepping up to the closest boulder.

"Don't!" Tir-Zen rounded on him, scowling, and Anakin froze at the hoarse growl.

The boy turned very slowly to peer over his shoulder and eased his hand back under Tee's heated glare.

"This is where the heaviest fighting happened. It—" Tir-Zen took a breath to calm himself. "Just feel it," he said, gesturing at the air around them. "And no, we didn't live here. Not, _here_ here." He turned, his shoulders tight with tension and didn't glance back at them. "I'll show you."

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a look before following him, falling into awkward silence. Too many questions to ask, but the wall of Tee's back too solid to ask them. They left the ruined chamber behind and entered flanking hallways. Furrows carved into the stone and stars of black char spoke of the history the halls had seen. They kept their arms to themselves, silently marking the scars.

The hallway branched. Walls grew closer, the lighting relatively brighter. The few open doorways Obi-Wan chanced a look through revealed empty shelving and, once, nothing at all but a mosaic on the floor. They went up a flight and into a room almost brightly lit, its floor tiled in starry midnight blue granite, still polished at the edges near the walls.

"The Ters Room," Tir-Zen said. "Or the East Reading Room." He gestured at the ancient tables and chairs, not so different from the reading rooms at the Archive, save the lack of terminals.

The scale took some getting used to. Thousands of empty chairs. Several minutes to cross the room at a decent clip. They took a left at the hallway on the other side and then up a winding staircase set, seemingly, at random down the wall, between two rooms that looked like a Jedi library, breathing with the slow blue pulse of holocrons.

The walls closed in as they climbed. Obi-Wan touched his hand to the stone and then jerked it back almost instantly, sure he'd touched something wet and cold. His heart shivered in his chest, taking flight. He flushed hot and swallowed hard, as his stomach did flips. The world darkened at the edges as panic ripped through his blood. Beat. Faster. Breathe. Shallow.

He swallowed again and measured each breath to each step.

Forward. In.

Forward. Out.

He lurched onto the landing at the top and gulped for clean, cool air, conscious of the padawans watching. Of what he must look like, gasping after a brief flight of stairs, but he had no space in his chest for shame.

As he bent, hands braced above the knees, a cool sensation passed over his scalp and down his chest, leeching the panic away before it truly boiled up and over. The roar of his pulse slowed, and the vice around his chest loosened. He straightened slowly and faced Tir-Zen as he reacquired his balance. Tee frowned a little, casting a suspicious glance toward the stairs before asking with an eyebrow if all was well.

A slightly unsteady breath.

A brush of both hands to settle his robe back into place.

Obi-Wan nodded, and Tee ducked his head.

"This is the Archivist Dorm East," he said, and indicated the passage to the left. "Rooms." Then to the right, "Facilities. Kitchen. Commons." He heaved a sigh. " _This_ is where we lived."

"All by yourself?" Anakin asked, peering down the empty hall. "We haven't seen _anyone_. Aren't there other Jedi?"

"Dermian in the West Dorm. O'oali and Pel in the Urr Temple. Thuris in the bunker."

Anakin stared while his face fell, and then averted his eyes. "Where are we staying?" he asked, with muted enthusiasm.

Tee tipped his head. "I'll show you."

And he did. Large rooms, surprisingly furnished for a Jedi dormitory. _Recently_ furnished, at least compared to the walls and lights. Aylee's room held the accumulation of a life. Evidence in trinkets she hadn't taken to Coruscant.

Obi-Wan wondered why she left them as he touched a small handmade doll and a found metal aryx on the desk by the door. Then he imagined her heaving a crate onto a hovercart in the Temple hangar bay under the scornful silence of Master Windu.

No.

He did _not_ wonder why. Better artifacts for a future age than have memories perverted into weapons.

Time warped strangely in the hours after golddish. It could've been late. So late it was early, even. The weariness of body and mind didn't care for the mechanics of the stars.

After a brief hello, Obi-Wan left Aylee in her adjoining study, squinting up at the hologram of a Ho'Din and barely registering his presence besides. That was hours ago. Or seemed like hours ago. He reminded himself several times that there was still a mission. She still believed, preposterously, that the Endless Gem might be found.

But the thoughts slipped, and he found himself again staring at the room or out of the window, fighting the urge to pace. Too tired to pace. Too empty to talk. Full to sleep.

With a sigh, he slipped back into the study, lit by the grey glow of the hologram and the green from the holocron, barely limning the bookcases along the wall. He took a moment to absorb her silhouette, the curve of her cheek visible against the light at this angle.

Wanting cracked the knots in his chest like breaking timber.

"Aylee," he said, quiet so not to startle.

She made no sign of having heard, swiping a hand at the hologram to wind back its message.

Obi-Wan ventured closer with audible footsteps, stopping just behind her chair. "Aylee," he said again and touched her shoulder.

She jumped with a startled inhale and tried to turn while he leaned down, every inch closer a balm somehow to the frayed nerves of the day. He touched his forehead to her temple.

"It's late," he whispered, slowly straightening again, confident now that he had her attention. "Come to bed."

She blinked at him for a moment as though the words didn't quite make sense. Then glanced up at the hologram and over to the holocron across a sea of books and datapads. Obi-Wan stepped back and extended a hand, and when she looked at him that time, a smile of recognition crossed her lips. She slid the cap on the green holocron closed, plunging the study into darkness, and reached for his hand.

"Sorry," she said, gripping his fingers while he backed another step toward the door.

He grinned, though she couldn't see. "Don't be." And placed her hand on his chest, drawing her closer. Feeling for her waist in the dark.

They stepped backwards together, a clumsy little dance.

"You're gonna miss the door," she said, voice light with a laugh. A hand slid around the back of his neck, and he felt the muscles there unwind.

"Mmhmm." Kept moving until his shoulders collided with the stones.

Aylee crowded against him, pressing just a little.

Fingers brushed along his cheek, and he turned, mouthing at them gently, chasing the touch.

"I'm sorry if I ignored you," she said, suddenly serious. "It's just—"

"I know."

He did a bit of exploring in the shadowy dark himself, finding hair and ear and chin until—lips at last. Could you miss something that was new? Long for a novelty? He kissed like a sigh. Like relaxing, unraveling. Eased from the burden of going all day without.

"You didn't," he said. A little. But not enough to matter.

She dropped her head onto his chest and rested for a moment before finding one of his hands and tugging him along as she slipped into the candle-ish light of the bedroom. She let him go after a few steps and drifted to the right side of the bed, her hands already working the buckle of her belt.

He supposed that made the left side his and started for it, only to stop at the clatter of the belt to the floor and Aylee's long sigh. She turned just enough to catch his eye, watching, and turned back. He swallowed and stood transfixed as she unwound the cotton belt. Slid the tabard off, rolling her shoulders, and then folded it just so. The tunic hung open as she faced the wall, and he saw nothing until she moved with a small shimmy, and the fabric slipped down off her shoulders.

She let that drop to the floor.

Every layer revealed more shape. Neck and shoulder, shirt tucked in, showing waist and hip. And yet all cloth. And yet . . . his breath went shallow. She sat on the edge of the bed to remove her boots. Stood to untie the waistband of her pants and slowly removed them—a little extra bend while she did. A brief glance. Acknowledgment of his gaze, encouraging the attention. She pulled the tan shirt up and off, shaking her hair free of it as she added it to the pile on the floor. And then she turned, leaving the thin underclothes in place, and met his eyes.

He felt the air burn into his lungs and a hot lick of shame and looked away.

But that—he studied it, glanced at her again, a small furrow of concern on her brow—that was an automatic reaction, a trained response. And he could do as he pleased.

He met her eyes again and lingered until her mouth curled into amusement and she lifted an eyebrow in challenge. And then it was his turn.

The mindfulness was the key.

He undid the leather belt, like she had. Set it down more carefully.

Unwound the fabric beneath, more conscious of the speed than he could ever recall being.

As he shed layers, he felt the curious alchemy of her attention on his hard-honed body, the Temple's perfect blade. Awareness of the shape of his own muscle, the texture of his own skin. This body. Not just a vessel for the Force or a weapon to be wielded. But a gift, by existence alone. Capable of transmitting comfort. Care. Pleasure. By touch.

 _Boots . . . pants . . ._

He could feel the knowledge in his flesh. Needs and memories of pure sensation. He let the shirt slip through his fingers, rough material burning slightly, and recalled the heat of score marks on his shoulders. The rush of pain-pleasure blossoming where he felt Aylee's gaze, rolling into a bodily sweep of tingling gooseflesh.

But those were not the only memories. And when his focus slipped from the room, from the present, he caught glimpse of the plaza and a day's worth of guilt slowly etching his guts. How exceptional. How great. How worthy.

They believed it.

But his broken oath didn't show on the outside. That lived in the flesh, too.

Obi-Wan turned to find Aylee's gaze finishing a sweep of his form. Her smile broadened, sending chill butterflies through his heart. He turned away and sank onto the edge of the bed, gripping it hard with both hands as emotion splashed scalding around his core. She _expected_ . . .

He took an uneasy breath and forced words through a tightened throat. "Do you mind if—" What did he want? _Really_ want? "Could we just . . . lie together?" Shame squeezed a frown across the face he kept hidden. It sounded like a child's question. Do I _have_ to?

The bed dipped with an addition of weight. The sound of movement.

All that show for nothing.

He felt the cool shift of the undershirt with every breath, and it was a lie. Hiding nothing. Protecting nothing. Worse for the falsehood.

He flinched when she touched the back of his shoulder, but she held the contact.

"I'd like that," Aylee said gently.

Obi-Wan jerked around to stare at her, too shocked to do more than blink dumbly. Curiosity and concern blended in her expression as she shimmied back to the center of the bed, stretched out, and beckoned. There is skill, it turned out, in curling up with another person—a skill in arranging limbs Obi-Wan never had reason to learn. Aylee pressed his head to her shoulder and draped one arm across her middle. He settled one bent knee over her thigh, and it looked, he imagined, relaxing.

If plucked, he'd ring in C.

He stared vacantly at skin and shirt and tried to find the words for his doubts. Broken oaths have consequences. They _must_ have consequences. And if—

If the Dark Side—

She touched his cheek, a light, slow sweep of her thumb, then very deliberately placed a kiss along his hairline.

A few breaths passed in silence.

"Are you going to tell me?" she asked eventually.

He might have tensed if it were any more possible. Instead, thoughts and feelings crashed in acid colors and he did not know how to say in simple words the doubt and fear and guilt and betrayal harmonized with defiance, stressed by desire. There were no words.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

They didn't need words.

With an inward turning, he dropped the barrier to the bond and shoved the seething ball of emotion toward it, across it. Left the thoughts and images in their tangled knots and transmitted the whole in its incomprehensible mess before sliding the shield back into place.

Aylee gasped and scowled, and the fingers petting his side stopped in place.

Bands around Obi-Wan's chest ached as he breathed. "I understand why the Council forbids this," he said at a whisper and felt Aylee angle toward him. He stared at nothing, unblinking, and very carefully extracted shards of truth. "I find myself distracted. And . . ." Words were real if you said them—shifted the galaxy into a new state where they were not unsaid. "I . . . want"—he swallowed painfully—"in a way I have never wanted."

He closed his eyes for a moment's peace from that galaxy.

Aylee drew a deep breath, the both of them rising with it, and sighed out in that even, audible way they had all been taught in earliest martial arts. It releases stress. Centers the nervous system.

"Lutalica," she said eventually.

"What?" Obi-Wan lifted his head and propped himself up to look at her.

She pulled back and met his eyes. "The feeling in the middle that you couldn't name. The one holding all the other ones together. It's lutalica."

His brows knit into a frown, and she rolled her lips under her teeth for a moment in thought.

Then, "When you were born, they handed you a box with labels on the outside and said, 'This is you. Carry this box.' So you did. And everyone could read the box and know you. And those who gave it to you were so _proud_ at how diligently you carried it. And then, one day . . . you realized that if it was a box, there might be things inside.

"Suddenly, all you could think about doing was opening it. But they never told you to _open_ it; just carry it. And so you were afraid to.

"But . . . they also taught you not to be afraid. So you did it. You opened it. And unpacked what was inside. Some of them were very much you." She shrugged lightly. "Some of them not. And the labels on the outside didn't quite fit anymore. But these were the things they had given you to carry. And the labels they'd given you to wear.

"Only . . . now you could see the extra pieces. And you don't know what to do with these once precious things that you've carried around all this time that told people who you were and made others proud. It's . . ." She chewed her bottom lip. "It's a kind of sorrow."

Obi-Wan stared at her, breathless with disbelief, a chill spreading down his arms. "That sounds . . ." He shook his head a little. "Are you sure you didn't invent that just for me?"

Aylee chuckled. "You can look it up at the Archive. Along with that little story."

Absently, he lowered himself back down, settling into the embrace as best the tension in his body would allow. He let the idea seep in. The box with pieces that were _not_ him but received identity. Sorrow because you could not reseal the box, unopen it, find ignorance.

"It's not just that," he said, adjusting his cheek against her shoulder. "All day people gave me gifts. Their honors. What a good Jedi I was. How worthy I was." Guilt closed his throat with a hot coal, and the sear burned at his eyes. He waited, fighting it down, and managed to find his control again. "But how can I be worthy of their admiration if I've broken the one thing I swore myself to?"

It was, he thought, a rhetorical question.

Aylee carefully lifted his free hand, tracing the length of his fingers with her own. He watched it; felt it; observed himself doing both.

"I don't think," she said, voice low and serious as she set his hand down, "your value or goodness can be reduced to whether or not you abide a lie you were sold as a child."

It stunned him to silence.

She traced the backs of her fingers down his arm, stroking through the dark hairs with slow, even pressure. It was not a touch meant to entice, and he unwound under it. Tension bled from his shoulders, and he felt himself melting into her at last.

The tender ministrations paused, and he barely needed the bond to feel worry gathering beneath each breath.

"Your turn," he muttered.

And the next exhale carried acquiescence with it.

"Do you regret it?" she whispered.

He propped himself up again to get a proper look at the lines on her face, the dark seriousness of her eyes.

She smiled a little without levity. "Just because—"

"No."

He felt her reaching, brushing the Living Force within him for a hint of a lie.

Her eyes narrowed. "But you _are_ afraid—worried—that somehow . . ." She laced her fingers through his hair. "If I touch you too much. Or you like it too much, _there's_ the Dark Side."

His gaze dropped, unfocused, and he hung his head, not quite able to admit it to her face. "That's true," he said with a swell of misery that he did not try to mask.

They were both quiet a moment, still touching, still entwined, still a chasm to cross.

Aylee broke the silence first.

"Do you want to know what I'd tell Tee?"

He glanced up. "Please." And a hot yearning blew through him. To be a padawan again, when things were simpler and his path clearer.

"The Dark Side isn't seduction. It's not sex. Or lust. Or pleasure. They talk about it that way because it's easy. Avoid those, avoid the Dark Side."

Obi-Wan tipped his head. "Then what is it?"

Aylee's gaze lifted to the ceiling while she considered, then dropped to meet his. "Expediency. And control. The things you're afraid of? They're not from wanting. They're from not being able to accept what you get and needing to change it. That's what it means to be in the river. You take what comes. You let go of the idea that control is possible. That you get to decide the when and the how. The Dark Side promises _now_ and _exactly how you say_ , and it has the power to manifest that will."

 _Not from wanting._

Obi-Wan frowned. "How? How do you want and accept not getting?"

A wistful smile crossed her expression and she touched his face, leaving pins of fire. "With effort."

"I'm serious."

Aylee dropped her hand, and the smile faded. "So am I. It's not an easier path." She shook her head and chewed her bottom lip. "Do you remember the first time our Forces combined? You said it felt—"

"Vulnerable."

Remember? How could anyone ever forget something like that?

Aylee nodded gravely. "Imagine trying to feel like that all the time. Open to the world, accepting everything that comes."

It was his turn to touch her face, smudge away the frown lines and trace the shape of her cheek while he considered that moment, stretching it outward.

"Doesn't that hurt?" he found himself asking, and her lips curved upward as a finger brushed near.

"All the time," she said, taking his wrist in one hand. "It hurts. You let it go. It hurts. You let it go."

Obi-Wan frowned and flexed the muscle in his jaw. "And the scars?"

She smiled. But it didn't reach her eyes. There was a shift in weight and the warm slide and pressure of hands over the thin clothes, over exposed skin, as Aylee switched their positions and Obi-Wan bent willingly to the handling. His head and shoulders sank into the pillows. Aylee curled around him, thighs gripping lightly, sending a shock of pleasure to his spine. She settled her head against his shoulder and sighed and let the question linger in the air unanswered.

Light strokes of her fingers on his chest, pinned him to the moment, keenly aware of his heart thumping, his breathing. The scent of ink and vellum and old paper from an archivist's hands. He lifted hem of her shirt out of the way and drew lazy sigils on the small of her back. Her hips flexed at the first touch, a response that might not even be conscious. The thought brought a small smile to his lips, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the sensations.

"Tell me about Qui-Gon," Aylee said softly.

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed open, and he glanced at the top of her head. She didn't move to meet his gaze.

He frowned at first. Not sure why she—

 _Scars._

 _Oh . . ._

 _That scar._

It was subtle. And not. He let the idea simmer for a second, wondering when and how he'd given himself away.

"He was infuriating," Obi-Wan said finally, picking at the places that hurt. "I loved him," he whispered. "He rarely listened to what the Council advised. Defied them routinely. We fought about it." _Sometimes loudly. Sometimes for days._ Obi-Wan nestled closer until their heads touched. "He had great power. And more wisdom than I ever will." An uneasy breath. "They used to talk about him when he was out of the room and thought I couldn't hear. 'A Gray Jedi could never have a place on the Council.'"

Aylee's fingers on his chest froze. Her breath caught.

Fear fluttered through her emotion, bleeding across the bond before she shut it down.

That answered a thing or two. But the _fear_ . . .

His heart clenched as he glanced at her unmoving hand. It was only the two of them in this room. No Council to pass judgment. Just . . . him.

A pit opened in Obi-Wan's stomach.

"Look at me," he said most gently and withdrew his hand, setting it atop her hip instead.

Aylee finished her aborted breath and turned very slow and careful, coming up onto one elbow as she did. Making distance. She met his eyes with a guarded expression.

That stung. And he wondered briefly how he'd earned such mistrust. But no—if he had or hadn't made no difference to this moment. To a lover wondering if she was loved still.

He grinned a little and tipped his head. "It's okay to say it," he said, voice soft and warmed with humor.

Her eyes pinched a little at the corners. And after a moment's hesitation, her reply came in a dusty whisper. "That I live in the gray?"

Obi-Wan nodded, holding the eye contact just a little longer before reaching up to touch her hair. He lifted the curtain aside and made a show of peering under. "Look at that," he said, and let the strands fall back into place. "Still you."

The expression on Aylee's face went flat, and she shoved at him. "It's not"— _shove_ —"funny."

His smile developed into a chuckle, and he wrestled to grip one of her hands before she shoved him again, newly incensed. She was in a terrible defensive position, knew it, and quickly straddled him as they descended into a battle of hands and arms and yelps of sliding grips. Obi-Wan had the advantage of longer arms, and though he'd been trying to hold her at bay, wrists pinned spread eagle, found it much more effective to pull her close and pin her arms between them.

Aylee wriggled, grunted in frustration, and then relaxed, tossing her head as she tried to blow strands of her hair out of her face. She looked down at him, panting hot breaths across his skin. Obi-Wan swallowed down a smug smile and huffed a few heavy breaths from the exertion before slowly loosening to band of his arms until it was just an embrace and she could have freed herself at any moment.

She didn't. Just watched as they both sobered.

"It's not news, you know," he said eventually, stroking his hands up and down her frowned a little, studying his face. "You channeled Force Lightning," he went on. "Not rebounded. Not reflect. _Channeled._ The Dark Side in Korriz didn't affect you nearly the way it did the rest of us." She dropped her gaze. "I knew what all that meant," Obi-Wan whispered loudly, earning a new, considering look.

"And yet—"

"And yet. The world through your eyes is a very different place. Fascinating. Terrifying. And my box was well labeled and very small. And very stark."

Aylee slowly sat up, her knees folded on either side of his hips. Obi-Wan pressed himself back toward the headboard, slithering until he sat with his back against it, leaving Aylee sitting across his lap. She put a hand on his chest, about to say something, but words came tumbling out of him, cutting her off.

"I think Qui-Gon was trying to show me that there was more to the world than Council dogma." Thought struck him, thunderous, and he flinched. "And I—I _fought_ him. I groused. I corrected and judged and argued." A lens on the past came suddenly clear, and he stared up, breathless, into Aylee's dark and curious eyes as memory crashed over him. "Once we had a mission on Mandalore, and I didn't talk to him for three days. I . . . I almost left the Order. But . . ." Emotion burned up his throat. "I couldn't leave him," he said. " _Disappoint_ him."

The room got hot.

Then cold.

Grief reared from the depths of nowhere and sunk claws into his chest. His throat. His eyes. Chilled his lungs. Stole his breath.

He gasped in the scorching, ionized air of Naboo.

"Ben . . ."

He bounced on the balls of his feet. Waiting. Watching.

 _No . . ._

"I wasn't fast enough." He shook his head, blinking, and everything blurred. "He was counting on me to be there," he said, voice thick with ropey saliva. "We trained our whole lives for that moment, and I—" He pressed his eyes shut. Turned away from the memory, but there is always the memory. "I wasn't fast enough."

"Obi-Wan . . ."

"You don't understand!" he shouted, shivering. "I let him down in the moment he needed me."

He buckled then, folded into sobs he tried to hide behind his hands. A howling, messy sorrow that boiled from the belly with years of pressure. Aylee wound around him in a blanket of gentle comforts.

"It's not your fault," she said, pressing him to her chest.

" . . . too slow." He shook his head. "I—I watched. I was—" He struggled for air. For words.

"It's not your fault."

"I miss him." A new wave of heat and tears bucked through his system at saying those words aloud.

"I know . . ."

 _Gasp. Gasp._ "So much."

Gentle rocking. "I know."

Hadn't he dealt with this years ago? Accepted? Moved on?

"I fail—"

"Shh . . ." She ran her fingers through his hair, but it wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough.

He sucked a breath over a sob. "Failed him. I—"

"Shh . . . You didn't." Aylee leaned her head against his, still rocking, petting. "I promise, you didn't."

Kind words he didn't know how to believe because he was still failing, even now. Train the Chosen One.

Eventually the grief ran itself dry, leaving him feeling clean and exhausted. And he fell asleep without a thank you or good night.

Rosy light peered through the bedroom window as the red giant, Adega Besh, climbed slowly over the Eocho peaks. Obi-Wan stirred at the disruption of darkness and stretched under the sheets, burrowing into his pillow until a shaft of sunlight fell across his cheek. He roused with another languid stretch and blinked over at the empty space beside him. He rolled onto his back with heavy, uncoordinated limbs and found Aylee sitting at the small table in the corner under the window. The room smelled like caf, and a mostly empty glass mug sat within easy reach while Aylee read from a datapad.

He wondered that the aroma hadn't woken him. But perhaps the sleep had been needfully deep. Obi-Wan settled back against the pillows, watching. Content to watch and be silent, buried amid thick, warm blankets fit for mountain climes. Aylee kept reading, absently picking up and finishing the rest of her caf without lifting her eyes from the task.

Several minutes later, she lifted the cup again, surprised to find it empty, tearing her gaze free with a sigh as she glanced at the cup, the datapad, and out the window toward the rising sun. Obi-Wan had little concept of how long they'd been asleep. Was very early? Somewhat early? Did Ossians rise to Prime or Besh? And was it always the same year 'round?

Questions fell like raindrops on mute soil.

Aylee rose with a care for the sound of her chair that suggested she hadn't noticed he was awake and crossed to a dresser. She brushed wild, sleep-matted hair into a semblance of order and fixed it up in a simple twist that required no assistance and set her brush down with deliberate quietness. Guilt touched Obi-Wan's throat then, and he stretched again, groaning aloud to make himself known.

A smile turned his way.

"Good morning."

"Morning," he said. "Are we up early?"

She smirked and turned away, padding for the wardrobe on her side of the bed. " _You're_ not."

Obi-Wan hmphed in good humor and shoved the blankets off, sacrificing the warm little haven to the day. He glanced at the datapad as he got up.

"What were you reading?"

Aylee sighed and pulled a fresh tunic out of the wardrobe. Had she left old clothes here, too? She shrugged. "A history of Ho'Din religious rifting."

Obi-Wan pulled on a pair of pants and glanced at her back. "Riveting."

She didn't reply, her motions slowing to an almost idle as she slipped on the tunic, the flaps hanging open. He watched her for a moment as some thought took hold.

"Aylee," gently.

She made a noncommittal grunt and started tucking the left side of her tunic under the right.

Obi-Wan frowned and came around the bed. "Here," he said, first touching a hand to her shoulder, then tracing down her arms. A thrill shot through him at the touch. Standing so close. The back of her neck exposed. Kissable.

He took the tunic fabric from her hands and switched the fold, tying off the strings that kept everything in place. She touched his arms lightly when he was done, holding his embrace in place. He lowered his lips to her ear, scraping along the outer shell with his beard.

"Distracted?" he whispered, conscious of the way her body moved as she breathed. The way he wanted to _feel_ her move as she breathed.

She hummed and turned toward him, dropping her hands around his waist as she caught him in a kiss. Not quite hungry. Not simply sweet.

"Having an idea," she said, grinning as she stepped back out of his arms.

He felt his heart pump a little harder and a silly, hopeful smile cross his face. "Am I in it?"

Her grin broke into a laugh then, and she sat on the bed.

To put her boots on.

Despite himself, Obi-Wan's shoulders fell. "I guess not." And he finished getting himself dressed while Aylee grabbed her datapad and whisked out into the library.

A full day in the confines of the Library cleaved the longing in Obi-Wan's chest in two. To be at the Temple, a hive of modernity and activity. To never return to the Temple where he'd have to explain the lutalica to unsympathetic ears.

He turned the halls into a track. An empty room with decent yellow sunlight and rough sandstone floor into a sparring ring. And a poorly tended garden on the east balcony plaza for a meditation spot. Anakin worked on the Star Bloom Festival choreography, enlisting Obi-Wan and Tee as stand-ins as required, and QB2 as a portable jukebox and holoprojector.

They saw almost nothing at all of Aylee. Tir-Zen delivered food by a reckoning of time Obi-Wan couldn't quite follow. And then it was dark, and he fell asleep waiting for her to come to bed.

Several days passed in a similar, tense and empty waiting, made bearable only by the heat of a shared bed and the liquid high of a morning kiss. Later, they promised. When I'm not so tired or so busy.

 **AYLEE**

The research was getting somewhere. The Ho'din who had died in Tritos Nal's workshop spoke not only an old tongue, but it turned out a very regional one. Once she had a continent to work with it was a matter of comparing sound samples and written text to get a tighter lock. But the real breakthrough, and oh, they should give prizes for these things—

They _did_ give prizes for these things.

For great published works of academic rigor, if you could _get_ published. If you could get reviewed . . . acknowledged.

The point was, the breakthrough was in his clothing. No one ever talks about that. Yes, holocrons last longer than paper. Yes holocrons hold more words than a book. But _holocrons_ contain _images_. Not just words, not just sounds—both very useful—but images. She could see the Ho'Din's clothing, his hair style. And it turned out this Ho'Din wore a medallion specific to a sect of Dinante Fli'R who believed that their species' transmutation from plant to animal was achieved not by Dinegia, the passive force of nature, but Stelegia, the active force of nature.

Or, in a Jedi's tongue, the Dark Side.

Though the Stelante themselves might object to that characterization. They wanted to return to their plant-like perfection. Hoping for it so far hadn't been making it happen. But the Sith had proven they could make radical changes to a creature's biology through their alchemy. The power existed.

And if it existed for the Sith, why not for the Ho'Din?

Aylee stood, chair scraping, and pressed her hands against the table, leaning into a stretch. The strands, the possibilities, wove together in her mind. It all clicked. Clicked so _well_. That they would be in that workshop. After those tools.

The only thing now was to find out where the Stelante would have taken an artifact. And for that . . .

She straightened and cast a look around at the familiar, dark walls of the paper stacks, her gaze landing with dismay on the pile of open books she'd amassed in just a few short days.

For that, she'd need the modern records of the Archive.

The thread of Tir-Zen's life led Aylee to the balcony garden. He wasn't answering his comlink. Not so much worrisome as strange. She squinted with a frisson of pain as she emerged into the yellow sun's light and held up a shading hand. Her steps slowed as she made out a speeder parked at the landing that hung over Ooroo Canyon. Its high polish glinted white daggers into her eyes, and she looked away, scanning for her apprentice.

A few quick steps further out and she could see around the row of spindle pine that edged the garden. Tir-Zen and their visitor walked close, ambling slowly to a halt. Aylee's gaze flicked quickly over the boy. Roughly Tee's age. A little shorter, but a heavier build. Black hair and gold-hued skin of Mirialan descent.

Eben.

Her eyes caught on Eben's hands, clasping something behind his back, and she felt her pulse suddenly pound as her mouth went dry. Aylee stared at the two of them wavering on a knife's edge. Announce herself? But—

"I wish I'd known you were coming back," Eben said, his voice the epitome of what Tee's was not—a rounded baritone that held space for his presence.

Aylee retreated behind the row of trees, mindful of her footfalls, and found an angle that gave her a decent view of Tee's face.

"I'm sorry for not giving you any warning," Tir-Zen said in his gentle rasp. "I didn't know we were coming until we were almost here."

"That's the life of a Jedi, right?" Eben said, laughing a little, though it sounded short. Strained. Nervous.

Aylee's stomach tightened, and she threaded Force into her senses on instinct for better vision and hearing. Especially hearing.

"I— Uh—" Sand crunched as Eben shifted his weight, and Aylee leaned her face into the pine needles so she could see the edge of him, the line of his arm and part of his right hand. "Tee, I—"

Tir-Zen cocked his head.

Aylee held her breath.

She _heard_ Eben swallow and then produce what she'd seen him holding.

A gift.

Tir-Zen frowned at it for a fraction of a second before he realized. And then his eyes went wide. His expression slack with astonishment. He squared himself slowly with his old friend, and Aylee carefully adjusted to keep line of sight.

For the span of a breath, Tee stared at the promise box on Eben's proferred hands, his breath quickening. And then slowly he lifted his gaze.

 _A promise box!_

Aylee maybe screamed a little inside her head.

 _What's a promise box?_ Ben's reply came thundering loud in her skull, and she jerked, crouching in the shadows, and twisted to see him standing in the doorway to the garden. She flailed her hands in his direction.

 _Shut up!_

He pulled back slightly with an affronted frown. _What are you doing?_

She scowled and held her finger to her lips, then pointed in Tir-Zen's direction.

 _Are—are you spying?_

 _Shut up._

 _Aylee._ Reproofing.

 _Get over here and shut up._ She hissed at him as though their thoughts might be too loud and turned back to watching through the branches.

"Eben . . ." Tee said, the harshness in his voice eased by whispering. "I . . . I can't. You—"

"I want you to have it," Eben said, a waver in his voice as he motioned the box closer.

Obi-Wan made no sound at all as he crossed the paving stones and slid into Aylee's space setting his chin on her shoulder to see what she was looking at.

 _What's a promise box?_ He repeated.

They watched as Tir-Zen reached out and lifted the box from Eben's hands with careful fingers.

 _An Ossian custom for one lover to give to another._

She felt Ben's stare replace the heat of his cheek against her skin.

Tir-Zen swallowed audibly and touched the lid of the box as he avoided Eben's gaze.

"E, I"—his jaw shuddered, and he blinked rapidly—"I wish I could. But . . ." He frowned. Pained. "It's not . . . the same for me."

Eben heaved a sigh, and Aylee felt her ribs get too small, her skin prickle as she watched Tee's eyes fill and go glassy.

"I know," Eben said, his voice thicker than a moment before. "It's okay, I get it. You're a Jedi. But—" He cut himself off with an exhale, and then started again. "But when you left last time . . . When you left and I hadn't told you or done anything—" She could only see Tee, reacting to the look on his friend's face. "I promised myself that if I ever saw you again, I'd fix that. I want you to have it, because I want you to know. That's all. What you've meant to me."

Tee clutched the box to his chest.

"That—" Eben added, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That someone misses you when you leave."

Tir-Zen's eyes dropped shut at that, and he shook a little.

Aylee's chest burned for oxygen, and she very slowly, very carefully complied.

 _We shouldn't be watching this._ Ben tugged at her arm. _It's private._

 _I want to see how he's going to handle it._

 _Aylee._

 _Go, if you want._

He didn't go.

Tee took a few steadying breaths and opened his eyes, still hugging the box to his chest. He met Eben's gaze with a serious expression.

"Don't spend your life missing me. I can't—" He hesitated. "Promise me you won't."

Eben made a sound, a puff of breath, and a sad smile carved the corners of his words. "Can I miss you for a little while?"

Tee huffed a laugh and glanced down at the box, shifting his fingers slightly to pet its surface. The threat of tears receded from his eyes, and he looked up again, holding a steady gaze. A second ticked by.

Two.

He swallowed hard.

Lowered the shield of the box.

And stepped with calm purpose into Eben's space, guiding him closer and into view with a hand on the back of the neck. Eben stood stunned while Tee delivered a cautious, sweet, and chaste kiss to parted lips. Then held their foreheads together while he breathed like bellows.

Aylee's jaw dropped.

 _Well,_ Ben said, _that was unexpected._

Eben took several seconds to do anything more than blink.

"W—" He was barely breathing. "Why did you do that?"

Tee frowned and chewed on his lip, staring down at the paving stones. "I thought . . ." He looked uneasy as he let his friend go and stepped back. "I thought it might be something you wanted."

Eben shook his head and laughed a little, though it had an edge. "My first kiss."

A scowl ripped through Tee's expression, and he hugged the box closer again. "I'm sorry if I just . . . if I just made it harder. I thought—" He paused, looking pained. "I didn't want to leave you with nothing. For you to give me this and get nothing. And it's"—a weak shrug—"it's all I have to give. I didn't want you to leave disappointed."

He hung his head, and Eben chuckled with broken shards.

"I was always gonna leave disappointed. Cause you were always gonna get back on that ship. But," he nodded toward the box, "now you'll have something to remember me by."

"But you've always been my bes—"

"Don't!" Eben held up one hand. "Don't say it. Just . . ." He lifted on shoulder in a shrug. "Come back some time. When you're a knight. See what I've made of myself."

Tir-Zen nodded and brought the box down from his chest so he could look at it properly. "Will you make me some of that mountain shad?" he asked.

Eben's head tilted. "In the purple sauce?"

Tee's look turned hopeful, and he nodded.

Eben laughed, throaty and genuine. "Bilkenberry pie, too, if that makes it a date."

Tir-Zen's shoulders jerked with a huffed laugh. "You remember that . . ."

They fell silent, and Eben stepped closer, touching a hand to the carved box. The contents of a promise box are always bits of memories. Physical mementos. Recordings. These are the things I love about you, they say.

The two exchanged a long look that at least left Tee smiling, and then Eben surged forward and wrapped Tir-Zen in a hug. Tee squeezed him back, fierce, the fingers of his free hand digging into Eben's shoulder.

Aylee put her hand to her mouth, her throat tightening with flooded pride.

Eben was the first to let go, and he stepped back sniffling and wiping at his face. "Take care of yourself, Tee. Promise me."

Tir-Zen nodded, grinning. "I'll come back. When I'm a knight."

Eben reached out and flicked the rings in Tee's ear. "Won't even recognize you."

A smirk. "I'll call first."

They stared at one another, the silence growing longer. More awkward.

 _I don't think they know what to do now,_ Aylee said.

Obi-Wan set a hand on her shoulder and motioned for her to follow.

 _Allow me,_ he said, as they snuck back to the balcony doorway. _You, go be elsewhere._

Aylee gave him a sharp frown as they stepped back into the Library hallway but he answered with a shooing motion, and she rolled her eyes.

"What were you even doing out there?"

"Looking for Tee."

"Oh?"

"I was going to tell him that I think we're done here."

Ben's brows knit together. "We are?"

"Yes. I need more modern records, which means I need the Archive."

His expression turned disapproving, and she realized her error.

"I was going to tell you, too. I just—"

"No." He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Nevermind."

"Ben—"

"It's not—" He turned for the door and rolled his shoulders. "That's actually quite helpful." He glanced over with wink. "We'll see you in a bit."

 **OBI-WAN**

"Tir-Zen!" Obi-Wan called brightly, striding out into the balcony garden. He neared the corner of the tree hedge. "Tir-Zen, are you—" He cut himself off as he came around the corner, and both boys turned to face him, looking a bit startled and vaguely guilty. Obi-Wan let his gaze fall on Eben. "Oh! Hello." He cut a look at Tee. "I didn't know we had visitors." And then he turned a very pointed look in the direction of the landing pad. "Or that you could get here via speeder."

Tee cleared his throat and held the promise box tightly to his side. "Master Obi-Wan," he said, executing a small bow, "this is a friend of mine. Eben Darakrul. His father is a famous architect and built all the modern government buildings in Knossa."

Obi-Wan offered the boy a small smile and tucked his hands into his sleeves as he bowed. "Very nice to meet you, Eben."

"Master Jedi," the boy bowed back.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but—"

"No, I-I was just leaving," Eben waved the comment away with a noncommittal shrug. "I just . . . didn't get to say good-bye when he left for Coruscant the first time. Didn't want to miss my chance." He turned and offered Tee his hand. "See you around?"

Tir-Zen eyed him and then gave his hand a few solid shakes. "Yeah," he said, sounding only a little strained—only if you were listening for it. "See you."

Eben bowed in Obi-Wan's direction again and started for the speeder, turning to wave a final farewell when he was out of speaking range. They both lifted their hands to him and watched as the speeder took a hairpin turn away from the canyon drop. Obi-Wan cut a sidelong look at Tee, gauging him.

"Well," he said, turning, "he seems like a nice fellow."

Tir-Zen stared at the empty space on the landing pad. "My best friend here. I . . . I think I might have gone crazy without him."

Growing up in an abandoned library. A tomb and memorial. Obi-Wan grunted in agreement, and Tee turned his way.

"You were looking for me?"

"Ah. Yes. We're packing to leave, apparently. I'm to tell you if you want anything from town, you're to get it now."

"Already?"

He smirked. "You're as surprised as I am."

The young man's expression turned thoughtful. Distant. Eventually, he nodded. "Thank you, master, but I don't need anything."

That didn't seem entirely true, but it wasn't his place to push. They walked back to their rooms in the dormitory wing in heavy silence, and Obi-Wan kept minding his stride not to leave Tee behind. Presence and patience.

 _We're on our way_ , he sent across the bond. So it was no surprise when they arrived at Aylee's room to find that she was, in fact, packing. Packing more things than they'd arrived with. She looked up as they filed in and watched as her apprentice trundled toward the bed and then sank onto it. He held the box between both hands, staring at it.

Aylee and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance, and then she put her book down on her desk. She moved closer to get a better look.

"What do y—" Her voice trailed off, and she stared.

Tir-Zen slowly looked up at her, troubled.

Obi-Wan could sense his part in this and took a step closer as well. "What?" he asked, looking between the two of them.

"Tee . . ." Aylee breathed, with an astonished air. She sold the shock of it for sure.

His gaze fell again. "Eben gave it to me," Tee admitted.

"Gave you what?" Obi-Wan pressed, coming to stand at Aylee's side.

"A promise box." Tir-Zen held it so he could touch the surface lightly. It looked hand carved, inlaid with different woods and diamond-shaped stones that shifted in the light like fire opals. Like Tir-Zen's eyes. "It's . . . an Ossian custom," he said, his voice rasping into a croak.

Aylee swallowed, watching him. "When they love someone," she said, "they gather their fondest memories in a box like this and present it to them. Often it's a formal exchange."

"A commitment?" Obi-Wan asked.

"A declaration," Tee clarified.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. "And . . . your friend gave you this?"

Tir-Zen nodded and did not look up at either of them, tracing a finger around one of the fire opals. Aylee offered Obi-Wan another worried look.

"Did you know?" she asked Tee gently.

His shoulders lifted vaguely. "Suspected. We didn't talk about it."

He kept touching the surface of the box without opening it.

Aylee chewed on her lower lip, which Tir-Zen did not see.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

He looked up then, eyes shining with misery. "I didn't want to hurt him."

Pain squeezed in Obi-Wan's chest, echoing across the bond.

"Did you tell him the truth?"

"Yes . . ." Tee winced. "No. I don't—I _tried_. But then he thought I meant because I'm a Jedi. And I—" He hung his head and set the box on his lap. "I let him believe it."

That was . . . an accurate rendition of what they witnessed.

"Why, instead of correcting him?"

Tir-Zen shook his head, slowly at first, then more fiercely.

Aylee's voice turned harder. "Tir-Zen, _why?_ "

"Because I didn't want to tell him I don't love him!" he spat and shrank from his own outburst, curling on himself. "I didn't want to lose him," he said in the smallest of voices.

Aylee reached out and stroked at the base of his right front horn. A small, tender gesture that unbundled his shoulders and uncurled his spine. Eventually, he looked up, face twisted with torment, and blinked out several tears.

Obi-Wan fought the urge to put a hand on his shoulder and swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"Was I kind or selfish?" Tee asked. "I can't tell, why can't I tell?"

Aylee took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Can it be both? You save him from unnecessary pain, and you keep a good friend."

Tee shrugged, and she took back her hand.

"If I did so much good, why do I feel so guilty?"

"Because he asked you for something, and despite how much you want him to be happy, you couldn't give it."

Tee sighed and wiped at his eyes, nodding.

"If it helps," Obi-Wan offered, meeting those bloodshot orange eyes, "your friend was _also_ kind and selfish. He didn't _have_ to give you that." He lifted his chin toward the box. "He could have kept it to himself. But instead he eased his own doubt and guilt and longing. And. He did you a great kindness in letting you know you're loved."

Tee nodded at the both of them, silent while he pondered the idea, quietly getting himself under control. When he moved to stand, they shuffled back to give him room. He kept the box tight to his side and glanced around, slowly frowning.

"What?" Obi-wan asked, following his gaze. Seeing nothing.

"Where's Anakin?"


	27. Home

**AYLEE**

 _Sculpture,_ she thought.

 _Art._

And not for the first time. Or the second, or the third.

A lock of hair curled into a bow as it touched his forehead, barely brushing the mark above one eye.

Aylee switched her legs to cross the other way and watched Obi-Wan stare at the chal'tek board between them, his mouth and chin resting thoughtfully in one hand. He barely moved. Didn't seem to breathe with all the layers of fabric obscuring the man beneath.

But she _could_ see his hands—and take a moment to remember their warmth and weight and the places hard with callus. Be distracted by them, when she should be planning future moves on the board. She sat in her chair and let her gaze drop to the game pieces. The heat in her belly warmed into a wicked little grin as she let him drag the silence out a few seconds longer. Then:

"I think this game needs a strip version."

Obi-Wan did not move. Then his gaze lifted by degrees along with his brows.

"Getting bored with the rules?"

Aylee leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. She smiled, a little come-hither, a teasing quirk of an eyebrow. "Maybe I just want a good reason to lose," she said, husk and honey in the sound, and kept leaning closer. Fingertips across the forehead, then her thumb brushing his cheek as she caressed his face.

He dropped his hand and leaned into it, his gaze drifting from the board as he exhaled. He was such _parched_ land, and quenching that need sent shocks up her arm and a thrill down her spine. She smiled as her own breathing hitched just a little when he moved to scrape fine hairs against her palm—a small nuzzle of a motion. A small thing he had learned.

After a breath she drew back and settled into her chair again, surveying her handiwork. He met the challenge of her gaze, smiling around the eyes, and glanced down at the chal'tek pieces again.

Another moment of silence, and then a casual glance up as though she'd just said something he hadn't quite heard.

"Well, I'm not going to stop you."

Aylee tipped her head to one side, smiling slowly in reply. "But are you going to join me?"

"Don't you think it's a little public?"

She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and let the eye contact linger until her blood rushed, teased to excitement by pricks of piercing blue. Then she turned and called over her shoulder.

"QB!"

Anakin's droid floated up the ladder from the cockpit and whisked over to the game table, circling blue lights around its exterior as it came to a stop and leveled its lens in Aylee's direction.

"Yes, Master?"

She offered the droid barely a glance before meeting Ben's gaze again. "The lounge is off limits until I say otherwise."

QB bobbed in place and flashed briefly green around its crown. "Yes, Master." And then positioned itself at the top of the ladder. A second later, and the holographic image of a red Do Not Enter sign filled the shaft leading to the lower level.

Aylee nodded in satisfaction and settled back in her seat, a light, expectant, maybe even haughty expression on her face.

Ben chewed on his lower lip once, gaze flitting between her and the droid. "So, is that an official challenge?"

Heat spread into her thighs and chest. "I officially dare you."

Obi-Wan's teasing smile deepened, and he looked at QB as though trying to suppress a laugh. "All right," he said, shrugging a little. "But you'll regret it."

"I really don't think I will."

He'd been staring at the board for ages before she'd said anything. And either the gambit to throw his attention would pay off. Or . . . the evening was going to get interesting. And _then_ scramble his attention.

Obi-Wan made no effort to hide his don't-say-I-didn't-warn-you disbelief—or his pride—as he moved a piece on the board at last.

It was . . . the best possible move to make on the board.

Four of Aylee's pieces joined her graveyard, and she might have scowled with annoyance had Ben not looked up with rapt expectation and a grin. There were worse things than a lover's appreciation.

She slipped from the chair and pouted at him for effect, before turning her back, so all he could see was the wall of her cloak. And then she started to shimmy around under her many Jedi layers, pulling her arms into her sleeves, plucking and pulling at fabric with a bit of Force here and there until eventually she pulled her undershirt free from beneath her tunic and turned, dangling it from one finger before letting it fall.

Ben's eyes narrowed as he watched it puddle on the floor.

"You sure that's not cheating?"

Aylee shrugged, slow and sinuous. "You can't cheat when you're making up the rules."

"If we're making up the rules"—he leaned closer, scanning his gaze down her body and up to meet her eyes—"how will we know if we win?" He turned his voice caramel soft.

"Because"—a sly smile—"someone will end up on top."

The South Hangar opened to the sky.

Anakin set the _Vesper_ down on the long, narrow landing platform and launched himself out of the hold with the sound of unwinding engines biting his heels, with Tir-Zen close behind. Aylee and Obi-Wan exchanged curious looks as they ambled down the plank and their padawans strode away with swift purpose.

Night had settled on Coruscant. Lights illuminated the length of the platform, and the Temple rose glowing into the darkness. Speeders crisscrossed the sky in blinking streaks that drowned out the stars, and the hum of traffic filled the void where chirrups and insect whines might once have been.

Obi-Wan's steps faltered as they started for the Temple, and his gaze lifted from the doorway at the end of the platform to the building's exterior. Last time they had come home, fear had not let him get much farther than this. Fear and drug addled delirium.

The resentment had been fresh and real.

The disappointment too keen a pain to bear on top of everything else.

It didn't feel like home, he had said, as his soul longed for the relief of a journey's end.

Aylee studied his face and the slow way he swallowed.

"What are you thinking?" she asked gently.

His gaze roamed, up and distant though there wasn't much to see.

"I'm thinking"—he said eventually, not meeting her eyes—"that faith is a kind of love."

Cool shock tickled across her shoulders, and Ben glanced her way to gauge the impact of his words. Carefully chosen. Solemnly weighed. But doubt, in that expression, that he had captured it right.

She lifted her eyebrows in encouragement, and he folded his hands into his sleeves.

"It's an inclination of the heart, shaped by trust—that there is a purpose, that you are not alone, that you are loved in return."

His gaze skimmed over the Temple doorway and back to her.

Aylee made a small sound of assent. "The language of faith often uses the language of family," she offered, not quite sure what he needed to hear. Very sure he needed to keep talking.

A frown burrowed onto his forehead as he watched Anakin and Tir-Zen reach the doors and disappear inside. "But . . . trust . . . _requires_ honesty," he said, a conclusion, not a question. "What kind of love could it be if I never merited anything more than lies?" He met her gaze. "If my inclinations were manipulated from the start?"

She fought the urge to touch his cheek. To tell him _no love at all_ and burn the whole blasted thing.

But that wouldn't heal the hurt that spins such questions out of pain.

She felt her skin grow hot and too tight under his regard and took a moment to stare down the length of the landing pad herself. He wanted wisdom; being older was supposed to make you wiser. Balance the scales for the aches and extra lines around the eyes. She tried to piece together something suitable, stitched with empathy and a hint of past experience.

"Disillusionment with the Order doesn't mean the Force isn't real," she said eventually.

"I know."

"Then don't think of it as faith in _them_. These men." She gestured. "This building. Their politics. They're just the conduit. _A_ conduit. One of many possible ones."

"Are you telling me I don't need them anymore and can have faith in the Force directly?"

She shrugged, noncommittal.

He went on. "But how is that a two-way street? Blind allegiance to a cosmic law? We might as well worship gravity."

"No." Aylee stepped in front of him to catch his gaze, suddenly vehement. " _Not_ like gravity. It needs conduits. Always."

Obi-Wan frowned, searching her eyes.

She chewed on her lower lip and took a moment to order her thoughts. When she spoke, she couldn't keep the timber of teacher from her voice, but if he minded, it didn't show.

"Where does the Force come from?" she asked.

"Life."

"Life. Plants. Animals . . . And _people_." Despite their exposure in the middle of the hangar, Aylee cupped his cheek. " _I_ love you. And if the Force comes from me— _works_ through me—then it must too."

He held her gaze a moment longer and then let the tension in his shoulders unwind. His eyes fell shut, and he looped his fingers around her wrist, holding her in place.

"And it's not just me," she said, voice hushed. "Your master did. Anakin does. How improbable were each of those meetings? How many events had to line up just perfectly to make you _you_ at just the right time?"

"All of them."

"So you could know _them_ , so you could feel this." She moved her hand to his chest, and he opened his eyes. "You can _feel_ the Force. And that's what this was all supposed to be about." She swung her free hand toward the Temple. "This order. These teachings. Feeling. It. Here." She pressed on him with each word for emphasis. "Directly. If you can do that . . ." She tipped head her toward the doors. "What do you need them for?"

Obi-Wan covered her hand with his own and squeezed as he he chewed over her words. Slowly, an impish smile crossed his face.

"The starships and credit are nice."

Aylee scowled and shoved him, and he chuckled as he stumbled back.

Not even Master Belami had risked putting it quite that way. Extemporaneous heresy, and be damned if she didn't feel every word of it pounding through her blood. He'd asked. He'd _asked_ , and she'd _risked_ answering, here of all places, and—

"I'm sorry . . ."

Ben reached for her hand as she stalked further away. She could hear the grin in his voice and did not slow down.

"Aylee, I'm sorry," he said again, more soberly, and she paused to let him catch up, brush his hand down her arm with shivering lightness. "It's just— You've given me a lot to think about."

She eyed him, sidelong at first, as her temper ebbed, and then a more sweeping, deliberate look he couldn't have missed. Her lips twisted.

"You forgot stellar wardrobe."

Companionable silence settled between them as they fell into step, crossing the hangar and entering the Temple proper. The halls glowed with bright lights reflecting off white walls. The blue tiles down the center of the floor drew the eye if for no other reason than sanctuary from the surrounding harshness. Facilities, like the Archive and dorms, might alter their lighting to follow Coruscant's natural sunrise, but the halls where business might be conducted remained bright at all hours. There was too much traffic for the main body of the Temple to every truly sleep.

Tir-Zen and Anakin had already disappeared by the time Aylee and Obi-Wan stepped inside, and a check down all available passageways revealed not even a fleeing shadow. Wordlessly, they turned right, in the direction of the dormitories. The end of a long journey deserved a real bed and a respite from the cold of space. Every few steps their hands brushed or elbows touched with glancing blows. Nothing intentional except the closeness that allowed such things.

For the briefest of moments, Aylee let herself picture a swift, easy ingress. Finding her room. Finding her bed. A stolen kiss no one would see somewhere in between.

But they turned a corner headed for the lifts, and the warm anticipations evaporated. Aylee's stomach tightened, and her mouth went dry as she concentrated on not slowing her pace or stumbling at the sight of Master Windu and Master Yoda heading in their direction. They were not preoccupied in conversation, and Mace's attention made it clear that he was exactly where he intended to be.

Obi-Wan widened the space between them. No glancing touches. And they both slowed as the ranking members of the Council joined them. Master Yoda paused and turned at Ben's left, nudging his way between them as they walked, and Master Windu took up a position on Ben's right, matching his pace.

It was smoothly executed, with just enough command over seniority and space that Aylee had to drop back or risk crowding Master Yoda in and possibly hitting him with her satchel. Her mouth pressed into a hard line, and she swallowed down a prick of surprised sadness on Master Yoda's account. She'd always assumed him neutral, at least. Even an ally.

"Welcome back," Mace said, drawing the group onward with the pressure of his stride.

Obi-Wan glanced over at him. "Thank you, Master." And then he cast a look at Master Yoda. "It's been an eventful journey." His words slowed at the end as he turned, searching.

Aylee caught his eye, and his expression soured as he shortened his step. He was trying to make space. To let her catch up, while the Council members moved on ahead.

Affection melted in her chest.

He didn't have to notice.

If he noticed, he didn't have to act.

Mace and Master Yoda broke their formation and turned to face them, stymied, perhaps, and forced to make a little circle in the center of the hall. A block to the flow of traffic, if there were any.

Aylee stepped into the space made for her and smoothed away her frown and the harsh set of her mouth, offering instead a placid look of interest at the unexpected welcoming committee.

Master Yoda looked between them both. "Successful you were?" he asked.

Obi-Wan winced a little. "Not exactly," he said gently, "We beat the Howling Tempest to the ruins—"

"Tritos Nal's _workshop_ ," Aylee cut in. Not just ruins. Not just any cave a sith might have left a painting in. _The_ workshop.

"—but someone else beat us there by a thousand years, at least."

If the specific news about Nal made any impression, Aylee couldn't see it on their faces. Her guts twisted at the blank expressions, and an itch in her brain screamed that they didn't understand—clearly were not giving this proper weight. That she needed to explain. To make them _see_ —

"How do you know that?" Mace asked Ben, one eyebrow arched high.

Obi-Wan shrugged, barely rustling his cloak. "Desiccated corpse in the workshop. I got a very close look."

Master Windu's face twisted with a scowl. "So you came back with nothing."

His tone hit like a punch.

Nothing.

 _Nothing?_

A shiver rippled through Aylee's body as she felt tectonic plates shift.

"We came _back_ ," she said, waspish and snapping despite herself, "with two Sith holocrons from one of their most skilled weaponsmiths. I wouldn't call that _nothing_." Aylee gripped the strap over her shoulder and pulled it closer as she met Mace's gaze with a glare. "They might even be worth more than the artifacts themselves, if they contain blueprints on how they were made."

Master Windu's expression remained flat. "Blueprints no one _here_ can use."

Aylee had to glance away at that, conceding the point with a nod of her head. She hadn't thought of that, actually. No Jedi can use Sith alchemy or command enough Dark Side power to create the kind of objects Tritos Nal was famous for. Any blueprints she might find on the holocrons would be academic. Highly valuable to learned circles, but only to them.

Mace sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "Well," he said, "at least no one else got their hands on a dangerous artifact. That, I suppose, is a victory." He exchanged a look with Master Yoda and they both turned in unison to take their leave. "Bring the holocrons to Jocasta for decommissioning ," Mace said, as he started away.

Aylee, about to move to follow them, stumbled to a stop, her heart suddenly wild. "What?"

Mace turned with that same arched eyebrow. That look. That . . . judgment. That dismissive, prideful weapon of authority.

And the plates . . . buckled.

Rage and anger are not quite the same. The body can hold a rage it does not know it possesses. Buried under decorum for a geologic age, slowly, with every forced smile, with each choice to demure instead of shout, with every decision that anger is tactically pointless, the soft core of kindness hardens a little more. A piece of it dying to form a chrysalis around the molten mass of past angers denied.

It is why rage is a volcano.

Why it harbors inside the unlikeliest of hosts.

Why they always seem so nice, before they explode.

Aylee's knuckles turned white as she gripped the strap. "No!" The word burst out scalding. It had not occurred to her on the trip—not once—that the holocrons would be anything other than an academic treasure. "These could be _years_ of study and new discoveries!"

Mace turned slowly back around to face her. "And they could be dangerous. Holocrons absorb the character of their maker—in this case a Sith so singularly skilled with the Dark Side that no one in history matched his accomplishments."

Aylee narrowed her eyes, heat and venom in her throat. "You have no idea what knowledge is in here—what you're destroying because you don't trust your own people!"

"Even Jedi can be tempted!" his voice boomed, making the hallway feel small.

Aylee met Master Yoda's eyes with a silent plea. He hadn't said much. Had been the one to ask her to Coruscant in the first place. He frowned and glanced at the ground, small mouth working in silence for a moment.

Then he met her gaze again. "Too great the risk is."

The rage _howled_ , and Aylee shook with it. "We almost _died_ for these!" She stepped back, twisting to hide the bag from their view. Dropping instinctively into a defensive pose.

Eyebrows went up all around, and Master Yoda tipped his head back to meet Mace's doubtful expression before proceeding.

"Ahead of the scavengers, were you not?"

Aylee's chest flared with the heat of response, but Obi-Wan lifted a calming hand her way and spoke instead.

"We beat them to Korriz, yes," he said, "But it's not like they didn't know where we were going. They caught up eventually, despite Anakin's best efforts." His voice turned solemn. Earnest. "The workshop is destroyed now."

Mace's fists planted themselves on his hips, as his scowl deepened. "Destroyed how?"

A calming breath, and Ben continued, his hand drifting back to his side as the swirling panic in Aylee's chest slowed.

"It was built into an active volcano. The workshop, a temple, and . . . museum of some kind. The structure was massive and hollowed out the mountain. When they arrived, the Tempest bombarded it from the outside, until the whole thing collapsed. It almost buried us alive."

Yoda made a thoughtful sound and tapped his cane on the floor. "But"— _click_ —" escape you did."

"Barely," Obi-Wan looked at him. "And not without great personal risk. We _all_ came close, at least once."

She could have told them those things. More. It sounded so small when Obi-Wan said it. Tir-Zen singed and dying under her hands. A world ending, a future dying, her boy shattered, lost, gone, the agony, the grief—compressed and sanitized into _came close_.

Ben knew. And he chose his words with care.

Master Yoda heaved a heavy breath and sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them, Aylee felt his gaze like a knife edge. "Understand, I do, the value such actions place on these objects," he said, voice grave. "But cautious we must be of the danger they pose."

Cold slid into her stomach.

He was saying no. Her one ally on the Council, and he was saying no. She couldn't—

How could—

"Surely someone should at least look at them before taking such a drastic step," Obi-Wan pressed.

Mace's expression turned to stone. "Holocrons are the purview of the High Council—"

"I only see _two_ Council members here."

Mace cut Obi-Wan a sharp look and held the glare. "If we must inconvenience everyone, then I guess a meeting will be convened. Take them to the Archive and see that Jocasta gets them, for safe keeping. Is that clear?"

Obi-Wan stared back, his jaw tight.

And then he nodded once.

It was not complicity, but it was not defiance. The gem held the promise of a magnum opus—a lifetime's achievement. The holocrons might not be that, but they were a chance at an academic future. A real breakthrough. A project of unparalleled value, personally, and great value generally.

And they would just ruin it. Destroy it, casually, under the unrelenting faith that some knowledge shouldn't be had. That ignorance was righteous. That they alone wielded the insight to divide the universe and burn the unwanted.

As Master Windu and Master Yoda turned to leave, their proclamation made, lava made its way up Aylee's throat. Her skin felt incandescent, ignited brighter by whitewater Force pounding at her back. How long in fear. How long standing on the wrong side of the line for their approval that would never, _never_ come.

"What do you think you're going to accomplish?" Aylee spit at their backs, and they turned in unison, curious and surprised. "You won't even know what you're destroying! How much greater could our understanding of the Force be, but you won't even _look_. Would it be better if someone else found them? Someone you _like_? Someone you trust? Are you going to destroy priceless pieces of history just to spite _me_?"

Mace's expression was impassive. "That would be petty."

"Every rebuke thrown my way is petty. Every snide remark. Every time you pretend I don't exist. Act like you don't _hear_ me. Act like you don't _see_ me. Are you really afraid the holocrons will turn someone Sith, or that they'll end up like me? Outside your dogma. Outside your control." She set her focus on Mace and stalked closer, wondering if he could feel the mass of power she did not use. His brows knit, and she glared into dark eyes. "Is that what the Light means to you?" she asked.

He did not answer and did not move.

Chest heaving, Aylee unslung the bag from her shoulder. "Fine." She turned and shoved it into Obi-Wan's hands, pressing him hard enough to make him stumble. "Take them!" She jabbed a finger at Master Windu. "No matter how much you burn or bury it will never give you a monopoly on truth!"

She stormed past them, Mace and Master Yoda both giving way to let her pass between.

"Your attachment to things and people has always been your problem," Master Windu called after her. "Belami never listened."

Aylee whirled, heart pounding, breath quick. "My . . . _attachment_ . . ." How _dare—_

He swept a hand toward Obi-Wan and the satchel. "You can't even let _these_ go. They're just holocrons. And yet here you are, letting your emotions get the better of you."

Aylee stared at him, stunned to silence.

Mace shook his head slowly and swept her with a look and a sneer. "You should never have been knighted—"

She jerked as though slapped.

"Master Windu!" Obi-Wan managed to sound scandalized and admonishing at once. He charged to step between them.

"—and never allowed to take an apprentice."

"Enough!" Yoda rapped his cane on the floor.

 _Oh . . ._

A quake of rage.

 _You . . . petty. Selfish. Hateful . . ._

Obi-Wan flinched and spun, raising his hand in a placating gesture as he felt the anger lash across the bond. The fire of rage and violence. Their voices washed out to murmuring noise beneath the rush of blood in her ears and the sound of her quick, harsh breathing.

Obi-Wan put himself bodily in the way and caught her eyes until she was looking, _really_ looking. "Don't." He mouthed, hand still raised in warding.

She did not have to _hear_ him to hear him . . .

To know this only proved Mace right. This surge of anger and outrage, threatening violence. At what, at words?

Words pregnant with the power of deeds. Seeds of threats.

Words were not nothing.

She could form her own. But thrown against the bulwark of authority, they were also not enough.

Aylee could see the moment crystallizing, an observant ghost. The calm, proper Council members, holding their emotions in check. Her, scowling, heaving, bleeding chaos into their order in the precise heresy they held in contempt.

They were . . . right.

Wrong and right by infuriating turns. Aylee whirled and threw Force into a run, feeling the gush of power splash over her boiling skin and sink into her muscles as she moved.

In every minor way Mace spoke the truth, the rage in her belly roared in protest, galled to concede him anything. Not knighted? Affronted—no— _insulted_ at the claim. Terrified because he had the power to undo what past Councils had done.

Anyone could be excommunicated.

Tir-Zen would not get a second chance.

She ran until she found herself in the Western Garden, pacing up and down fragrant rows and letting the life from the blossoms brush against her Force sense.

Tee was fine.

He was fine, and almost old enough.

They wouldn't.

They wouldn't.

They wouldn't.

Archivist Tela had done an admirable job filling in on the art history classes Aylee had missed while out adventuring across the galaxy. Archivist Dekloo skipped several of the ancient Duro poems listed on the lesson plans—a tragedy of culture—and instead moved the class ahead to the more lengthy Tragedy of Winds, a national epic. Made sense. Less work for him if he just kept the class reading until Aylee returned to her duties.

Her duties. The reason she set foot on Coruscant again.

The reason she met Obi-Wan.

Master Yoda needed more teachers for the influx of students, and there were only so many qualified knights to choose from.

She sighed at the pile of datapads poorly stacked and rotated a wrist, cracking the joint.

The young archivists who had covered for her absence left notes and test results to be sorted. Things she needed to know before stepping back in front of students and carrying on. Doing her job. Not letting the fate of the holocrons occupy every breath with fretting and outrage and guilt, in that order. Imagined futures. Imagined pasts. What she might have said or done and didn't.

Dekloo wasn't wrong about the reading, and she made it through the first class on caf and his momentum. Tir-Zen kept himself close at hand and after the students filed out, scooped up the datapad Aylee had just placed in front of herself, before she even got to turn it on.

"I can do this," he said, and dropped into one of the seats.

Aylee lifted an eyebrow at him. "You want to grade tests?"

"No." He kicked his feet up onto a nearby desk and leaned back, holding the pad up. "But I can. _You_ need to get ready for the next one."

She made a face at him. "I spent all night getting ready."

He cut her a brief look, then tapped at the screen. "So you're planning to cover . . ."

Aylee took a breath to answer, and the wheels stopped dead. She was going to—

She'd looked over _every_ lesson plan for the week. Next was—

Panic poured down her scalp like ice water.

Next was—

This day of the week . . . No. What day?

She grabbed for the pad where she kept her plans.

Zhellday. Curation and Research Techniques.

Right. Yes. "Datacron indexing and cross-referencing," she said, setting the pad back down.

Tee smirked without looking over, his point having been made.

Aylee sighed and rubbed at her forehead as she took a sip of caf and flicked the datapad to the lesson plan to read it through again. She got the shape of her intentions back as she read, fitting this class into the sequence of others. She could envision the lecture, the conversations, the questions, and a few jokes well placed for effect.

It might've been years since she'd had to use her educational training, but since returning to Coruscant, she had felt those old muscles coming to life. The material was all her own choosing, her own inclinations. And by the end of the reading, she could feel the excited stir in her chest to share the knowledge.

Tir-Zen sighed audibly, and Aylee glanced over the edge of her datapad. He tapped on the screen, flicked it to scroll, and tapped again. Then he uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. Slouched a little. Sat up a little. Sighed and tapped the screen.

A frown creased Aylee's brow watching his restlessness.

She cleared her throat, and Tee lowered the pad to look over.

"Tomorrow, I want you to do whatever you want."

He tipped his head. "What?"

Aylee set the datapad deliberately down, the edges clicking as they touched the desk. She gazed at her padawan and felt her heart squeeze.

"You don't . . . _have_ to sit through these classes every day," she said, and Tee slid in his seat until he was sitting upright. "You're not my assistant. You can— You _should_ find a way to occupy yourself with the larger community at the Temple. Not . . . sit in classes you don't care about."

"Master . . ."

"Tir-Zen."

He frowned and hesitated before answering. "I understand, Master." And then he set the datapad down on the desk and leaned over it, continuing the grading.

The following day, Tee came to the first morning class, observing quietly and drinking his own cup of caf in the back row. When the students left, he left with them, and true to his word, didn't return. In the evening, Aylee ambled into the empty apartment, stretching out the ache in her back. The square meals at the dining hall had been boring as ever, barely energizing, and she felt the efforts of the day pulling at her shoulders. Too many thoughts spinning uselessly.

She opened several cabinets, staring at the contents with a vague sense of disinterest. Waiting for something to feel right. Too late for snacks. Too much caf already for one day.

Aylee pulled a box of reeshee root down and set about boiling water for tea. The ritual of it offered some distraction from her thoughts, constantly drifting back to Korriz. She measured and boiled and steeped and even bothered to set it all in a proper pot, the pot on a tray, the tray on the table by the window. The lights in the apartment grew dim on their own, and Aylee sat watching the traffic whisking through the air while waiting for her tea to cool enough to drink.

In her haste to return to the Archive, she'd forgotten the Temple had duties waiting for her. So many hours a day proscribed, when all she wanted was to track the Stelante through their exile. Turning constantly from that thought was like trying to juggle while working, teaching, talking.

Exhausting . . .

Aylee sighed and took a careful sip of tea, letting the heat and earthy taste suffuse her body. The traffic moved in mesmerizing streaks, and she focused on that and the warmth of the cup in her hand.

Eventually, the door slid open and Tir-Zen stepped in quietly. Aylee watched him glance at her bed and then pause to scan the room. Strange shadows obscured his features beyond the lines of the tattoos, and as he moved closer she could make out the details. Not shadows but oil smudges along his cheeks and darkening his fingers. Handprints and drag lines on his tunic and pants. Tee caught her looking and glanced down at himself as he came into the light of the window.

"Master . . ." he said, searching and cautious. "Were you . . . waiting?"

She smiled at him and shook her head. He wasn't wrong to expect she'd be asleep.

"Too much . . ." Aylee made a swirling motion by her head, and that seemed to suffice as an explanation. She picked up her tea, took a sip, and glanced up at her padawan, still looming and motionless. "You're filthy, by the way."

He made a face. "I was in the mechanics bay," he said, not bothering to strain his rough voice in the silent apartment. "Anakin needed help with his battle droids. They're—" He grinned. "Big. They're gonna love it."

Aylee offered him a smile and inclined her head with attention as she took another sip of tea.

"And then I helped the mechanics with the hovercarts for the the parade. We had to adjust them to account for the weight of the service corps members who will be stationed on them. After extending the platforms on top, they can hold three times as many people. Plus decorations. But if you don't get the balance right, the carts are unstable and might flip. So . . ."

He trailed off, nodding, and shrugged like he wasn't sure what else to add.

"You got them working though?"

"One." His head bobbed. "Tomorrow I'm—"

He cut himself off, suddenly self-conscious.

"I mean, if it's . . ."

" _Tomorrow_ , you're going to go back and work on the others?"

Tee's shoulders relaxed, and he grinned. "There are a lot of hovercarts."

Aylee finished the rest of her tea and set the cup back down on the serving tray, contemplating the pot.

"Don't let me keep you," she said, not glancing up.

Tir-Zen snorted softly and headed for his room. "Goodnight, Master."

She hummed back at him and decided on at least one more cup.

Tee developed a new routine of his own over the next few days, a morning class, lightsaber training until noon, and the afternoon and evening in the mechanics bay. Aylee kept in constant motion furthering her research every possible moment. And at the end of the day, well into dreaming hours, coveting the unwinding liquor of reeshee.

"How's the work for the festival coming?" Aylee asked as Tee entered, still creeping with cautious propriety.

He straightened immediately, and she could see the white of his smile.

"Excellent. I finished a few additional droids and tuned some of the ones Anakin put together so their joints work smoothly. It's—it's going to be tremendous, master."

She could feel the pride radiating from him.

"I'm glad you're helping. And I'm sure he's glad too."

Tir-Zen hesitated, like he was going to add something more, then shook his head and disappeared into his room with a gentle goodnight. Aylee stared out at the traffic and finished her tea. Her eyes burned. Ached. Too much reading, too many hours forgetting to blink.

The words slid between her cells, vibrating. A new body of knowledge. A potential of being. Slipping to the Archive between classes. Skipping meals to get a few more pages in. And she was close now. So close.

Exhausted beyond sleep, she crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling.

The Stelante had been disbanded 500 years ago. The Archive housed records on their expulsion from the Ho'Din homeworld and personal journals from cultists who had settled on two different moons. Datacrons, digital records, parched animal skins.

She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at them until she saw stars. The Ho'Din's complicated script defied easy reading. And there were still sources she hadn't cracked open yet.

The Endless Gem was out there. It _had_ to be.

She was right—the research was right. It fit. Just a little more time . . .

A location, a pin point spot. A planet wasn't enough. She needed coordinates.

But a planet! A planet . . .

 _Darling . . ._

She startled at Ben's voice in her head. Rubbed at her burning eyes while her thoughts felt like beetles. Exhaustion pulled at her body with the sort of tired that deems sleep an activity.

 _Hmm?_ she managed.

 _Are you . . . all right? I haven't seen you in a few days._

 _What?_ She responded reflexively, frowning. _That's not—_ That couldn't be right. She thought back over the last couple of days but found only a blur of datapads and rooms of younglings. With a groan, she ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and then sighed into the silence.

 _Maybe_ , she sent back to him, answering the question. Maybe she was all right. Maybe not.

His presence in the Force glowed brighter, enticing her attention through light and heat.

 _Would it help if I was there?_

Her response didn't need words. A smile and a lifting hope and yearning transmitted themselves with perfect fidelity, and she felt a rush like relief and warming affection echo back across the bond. Aylee stared at the ceiling, unmoored in time as she wrapped herself in that feeling. Eventually, the door chimed, and she flicked her hand in its direction to press the panel.

Obi-Wan slipped into the room, a shadow hidden in his cloak. Aylee lifted her head just enough to watch him as he glided to the seating area on silent feet. He sloughed off the cloak, revealing pale skin and ghostly white underclothes to the moon-like light streaming through the window. He looked small and profoundly human as he moved closer. He smiled a little as she tracked him. Said nothing. Hesitated. Then pulled back the covers and slid into bed, his skin making a silken sound against the sheets.

Aylee closed her eyes and sent him a thought, an impression without an image of what she wanted.

He paused in his settling down and made a small, amused sound. Together, they shifted around, and Ben eased his weight down between her splayed legs until he was propped on his elbows above her, pelvis to chest pressed firm. He quirked an eyebrow, not entirely sure.

She drew a breath as deep as it would go, lifting him slightly, and let it out in an audible sigh, relaxing under the pressure. Just as she'd imagined. Asked. Needed. The tension in her shoulders she hadn't recognized as pain pinched and relaxed and pinched and relaxed, timid at the thought of letting go. And with each breath, letting go a little more.

"Are you sure I'm not—"

Aylee slid a hand to the back of his neck, and he quieted. Then after a moment he stretched and adjusted so he held up his own weight less. Pinned her to the mattress more. To the planet. A grounding rod for worry and too many divergent paths. A pressure holding the pieces down to an undeniable _here_. Every breath was effort and confirmation of presence.

Eventually, she opened her eyes. It was no surprise to find him watching, but she hadn't expected the mar of concern in his expression. So close. So dear. Her fingers flexed against his nape, and she lifted an eyebrow in query.

The barest of smiles.

"I haven't seen you since we got back," he said carefully, echoing himself. This mattered. To say it twice, this mattered.

Aylee looked away, breaking eye contact. The heat of shame lashed at her cheeks, and she readied an apology, but—

"I'm sorry about . . . about the holocrons," Obi-Wan said in a caramel whisper. "I didn't think I had a choice."

Surprise knocked her emotions off track, and Aylee blinked at him, trying to study his face despite the shadows of the room at night. If _he_ was apologizing, then he—

"I'm not angry at you," she said, light with wonder and swallowing the desire to laugh.

"You're . . . not." He sounded skeptical. "But you _have_ been avoiding me." The words held the shape of a question.

"No." Aylee drew her free hand up and down his back in long strokes, feeling his muscles working to hold himself far enough apart to speak. "No, it's not about—" She smiled. "I've been at the Archive." And the smile turned secretive, delight burbling inside with a mischievous glow. "I think I've found them." She wanted to laugh. "I think I know where it is."

Ben cocked his head, frowning. "The . . . gem?" he hedged.

 _The gem? The gem. Of course, the gem!_

She slid her fingers into his hair and gripped lightly, holding him still, bringing herself into focus. Bodies touching in warm waves as they breathed.

The gem. Yes.

"When the Stelante were banished from their homeworld, they settled on two different moons," Aylee told him, excitement spinning her words quick. "I'd been trying to narrow it down. And then—" She freed her hands and snapped her fingers, then squirmed under his weight as she reached toward her nightstand.

Obi-Wan readjusted, made more breathing room, and Aylee used the Force to draw a bracelet to her hand. She dropped back flat and held it between them, turning it so it caught the light from the window.

"Remember this?"

He nodded, watching it, and met her eyes. "The bracelet I took from the corpse."

"Not just a bracelet." Her smile widened, heart skipping quick. "This is his _life_. His story." She turned one of the faceted stones to face him. "This is his family crest." Indicated another. "His name." And another. "His induction into the Stelante Order."

She paused and looked at him, breathless and waiting.

But he only frowned. "Okay . . ."

"No, you don't—" Frustration twisted her gut, and she went back to the start, to the family crest stone, breathing hard. "I know his _name_. Bor Rutu. His family"—she shook the bracelet at him—"settled on the Kalsunorian moon Fidor."

Ben's eyes flashed. "Kalsunor . . . I know that name."

"One of the Sith Worlds," she added.

"Why would they go there?"

"For the same reason they went to the workshop. Because they believe the Dark Side can save them. Remake them into the noble plant-beings their ancestors were before they fell. The Light doesn't have that kind of transmutative power—"

"But the Dark Side does," he finished, his voice going soft.

His gaze went distant, unfocused, and Aylee sent the bracelet back to the nightstand as she let him sit with the idea for a moment. That the dots could be connected. That the Stelante who had raided the workshop had come from another Sith world, not so very far away from Korriz. One of them hadn't made it home. But others could have. Which meant it was out there.

Which meant the trail was not cold.

Aylee waited for him to say . . . something. Anything. Felt herself bursting at the seams under his silence, her skin crawling with fine spiders of need.

"I'm going to find it," she said, unable to take another second.

Obi-Wan pulled back and slowly sat up, folding himself to sit on his heels. "What?" he said, despite having heard. The covers slipped off his shoulders and pooled behind him, exposing them both.

"The Endless Gem. I'm going to find it."

He frowned again. "But— You can't really—" He stopped himself. Looked away and purposefully shifted the expression on his face, the timbre of his voice. "Do you think you'll gain the Council's favor?"

Aylee scowled at him—at his gentling tone and _patronizing_ . . . "I'm not doing it for them!" She tried not to shout as annoyance flashed up her throat.

"But I thought that was the whole point!" He turned his hands upward, lost and defensive. "Impress the Council. Stay on Coruscant. If they won't care and won't be swayed, then why bother?"

Aylee stared at him, chest heaving, and for a moment the shadows across his face made him look alien. Unknown.

Why?

A desperate, bitter sadness lined her face.

"Because it's there," she said, wondering that such things needed words. "Because I might be the first person in a thousand years to put together the pieces!"

"In a thousand years, no one's missed it. What's another ten, another thousand?"

That stung.

"Because _I_ can do it _now_. Me and no one else."

She wanted to shake him. Slap him. Make him see this singular opportunity. But all her hopes dashed upon the rocks. They were a binary star system. Not a red giant. The tension of the pull battling entropy.

He nodded and mulled it over, gazing down at her belly and lightly tracing a line over her skin.

"They'll never approve it," he said eventually. "They brought you here to teach, and we burned up all the good will there was."

"Classes will be canceled in order to prepare for the Festival. If I leave as soon as my last one is done, everyone else will be too busy to even notice I'm gone."

His hand stopped, and he looked sharply. "You're going to miss the festival?"

A light shrug. "I'll never have a better chance to go."

The genius of her clever plan evaporated with the disappointment that fell across his face. The tightness in her guts wrenched. None of this conversation had gone quite as planned, but this? She hadn't expected his doubt, much less disappointment.

"What?" she asked. Had to ask as the feeling came uncensored across the bond.

He shrugged with a short jerk of the shoulders and looked toward the traffic outside.

"Ben."

He sighed and crawled over her leg to lay at her side, staring up at the ceiling.

 _"Obi-Wan."_

"It's going to sound stupid if I say it," he replied in a quiet, dull voice.

Her heart stung already from the things he'd said.

"You're upset at me." She rolled onto her side and propped her head in her hand. "You don't think I can do this."

He shook his head. "It's not that at all."

Aylee stared at him, heart pounding with alarm. Something was wrong. Wrong and needed fixing. But she didn't know what. And if he meant to tell her she couldn't go—

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and rubbed his hands down his face, exhaling loudly.

"I wanted you to see!" he said at last. "This . . . performance." He gestured toward the ceiling, where his gaze remained locked. "The grand finale of our pageant. I . . ." He mouthed broken words quietly and let his hands fall to the bed in defeat. Then he met her eyes, glancingly, and focused somewhere else. "I wanted you to be impressed," he finished, voice and posture growing small with embarrassment.

The alarms beating drums in Aylee's chest ceased as she blinked at him. _Impressed?_ A laugh burned her throat, but she swallowed it down. Traded it for biting sweet affection and a smile as he sank into misery. Pride did not become a Good Jedi.

In the silence of shuffling on sheets, she leaned over him as she schooled her features. Her hair fell to a curtain, blocking them in.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she murmured.

He swallowed hard and glanced up, curious as he nodded. So close she could feel his heat.

"I don't care if the Council's impressed or not," she said, voice low and thick with rising emotion. "I want to find the Gem, so—" She paused to fight a tear back with a smile. "So you'll be proud of me for something other than reading books."

His expression turned pained, then tender, and as he was about to speak, she shrugged quickly, sniffed, and carried on.

"And it'll put me a point ahead."

Obi-Wan blinked. The hand reaching for her shoulder stopped. And his eyebrows shot for his hairline.

"Point ahead? I thought I was already behind one for the whole mountain thing."

Aylee grinned down at him. "Two points ahead." Then flopped back down onto the bed.

"Oh no." Her motion became his, and he rolled and came to his knees, straddling her waist in a graceful flick of motion that sent the covers the rest of the way off the both of them. "You said one."

"Two."

A smile tugged at her lips.

His eyes narrowed impishly, and a moment later, fingers dancing along her sides. Aylee squirmed. Shrieked at the tickling. Batted at his hands, until he pressed a palm over her mouth with a shush and cast a meaningful look toward Tir-Zen's door. She pressed her lips together, panting through her nose, and tried to tickle him back.

He tightened his stomach and made a face, but nothing more. With a frustrated sigh, she relented, and he removed his hand as they both sobered. Ben settled just enough weight across her thighs to be pleasant and waited, gazing down. The light was too dim to see the blue of his eyes. Aylee reached out and traced his cheek with a finger, scratching at his beard, the laughter still swirling bubbles through her blood.

"I'm sorry I'm going to miss the festival," she said seriously. "I didn't know it meant so much to you. But I promise I'll watch the holovids when I get back, and you can tell me everything I'm not seeing."

He offered a small smile and brushed some hair back from her forehead.

"This is important to you," he said. A question and not.

She nodded. The only person in a thousand years to solve this puzzle. A singular achievement if there ever was one. Important, yes.

He bent, drawing them together until their foreheads touched.

"Then," he whispered into the small space, "I have no idea where you might have gone in preparation for the Festival."

Sweetness hummed through her body, and she rocked up to kiss him, stroking her hands up under his shirt to feel the play of muscle under warm skin. A hot, pliant mouth kissing back. It's a strange and dangerous thing to do within these walls, and as if hearing the thought, Obi-Wan stopped and looked up around them at the room. Seemingly still. Seemingly empty.

He frowned as though listening for something, and Aylee glanced around, trying to shift her attention from the body under her hands.

"Do you want to go?" she asked him, while his only movement was breathing.

Her voice knocked on his attention, and he looked down, grinning suddenly as though surprised to see her there. Obi-Wan eased himself off and down onto the bed.

"No," he said, settling his head onto the pillow. "No, I like it right here. I just—" His voice fell to a whisper. "I feel watched."

Aylee moved to lay on her side again, studying his profile as he scowled.

"Then . . . let's not give them much to watch," she said.

He glanced over, unsure. Intrigued.

Daring energy whisked through her body. Quickened her breath.

"Roll on your side." She motioned with a hand, pointing toward the window.

Ben quirked an eyebrow at her, then complied. He got himself comfortable and tucked his knees a little. Aylee reached for the blankets he'd tossed off and pulled them up to cover them both to the shoulder. As soon as the satin touched skin, she could feel the heat building in the pocket of space between them. It might get unbearable but for now she felt warmed and liquid, relaxed into sensation.

She slid closer, adjusting so her knees slotted behind his. She traced her fingers over his side, up under his shirt, until her palm pressed against his sternum. Hidden by the blankets. Her free arm buried under the pillow. Nothing to see.

Breasts and chest firm against his back. Enough to be felt breathing. To feel him breathe.

Her lips touched the back of his neck, and she felt him shiver. Glanced. Light. Barely brushing soft skin. She waited for an objection.

His shoulders relaxed, and she kissed again. Soft. Wet. Unhurried.

She brought the hand resting on his chest to motion. Not much. Fingers tracing the muscles. Palm smoothing. Every drag of lips a stroke of fingertips. Like a song. A rhythm. Anticipate. Receive.

Aylee tugged on his collar with her hand under the pillow, exposing more shoulder and neck.

He let an audible breath out through parted lips. A slight shift in sound.

And then she reached across the bond and touched the Force within across the shell of his being.

Ben gasped but lay still, his breathing deepening as she slid across that ephemeral surface with warming friction. It felt like a harmonizing bass string plucked. Vibrating inward. Outward. She kept her mouth on his skin, moving, pressing. Tongue lazily swirling. Fingers stroked pec to pec.

She brought the focus of the Force to the nexus in his head, mere inches from her lips. Circled the point only Force sense could see. Felt the Force writhe and splash across her back. It fell on him like rain. Endless tiny droplets.

He made a soft sound in response, and Aylee rubbed her palm around his breastbone. Nuzzled at his nape while the droplets fell. She shifted her attention lower. To the throat. Stilled the kisses while the energy flowed. Gentle. Gentle . . . Throats were delicate.

Kissed again when she scraped Force against Force, shuddering from the buzz.

Heart next.

She stilled her hand. Gathered her focus. Touched the nexus, and Obi-Wan jerked with a gasp. Curling. Closing. Quick breaths like heartbeats, while she kissed. Held. And he slowly unwound. Sighed. And _sighed_ as she did not move on, with the patience of a midday storm.

The shoulder blade under her lips went lax, and his exhale dissolved into a moan. And only then did she shift her attention. Living Force within strumming against Living Force without.

She moved on, slow and steady. He anticipated the touch. Curled his knees toward his chest before the energy found the sacrum. Jolted and gasped as the power fell like rain over the nexus point. Trying to be small. Shuddering and instinctively trying to hide the vulnerable places.

 _Don't hurt me._

A fleck of fear across the bond, and his breathing changed again. Quick gasps and long pauses. And under the soft, endless assault, something calcified wore away. By degrees, he uncurled without prompting and relaxed into the sensation. The gasps lengthened as the timid flesh grew brave, and Aylee smiled against his skin.

She did her best to split her attention. Lips slowly kissing at neck and shoulder. Her hand hidden by blankets, caressing his chest. The Force touch roving head to sacral nexus, no longer channeling power—touching for the energetic friction. She did not press. He did not soften.

Explored. Mapped.

Obi-Wan's breath hitched when she touched something in the Force just right, and his body spasmed in response. Small mewling sounds said _yes, there_ , and elation surged through her blood like a solar flare. She could feel his long, slow breaths growing shorter. _Kiss._ Shallower. _Graze._ An intensity of feeling bleeding across. Too hot sand through fingers.

Like an incoming tide, a shudder began somewhere in his core. Fatigued strength unable to grip.

Aylee laved and sucked with the same languid motions, exercising control. Fell into patterns, as the quivering became a constant quake. And then he shrugged and twisted a little, pressing her away.

"St-stop." The word sibilated out, stuck on thick emotion.

She stopped, pressing her forehead against his nape with labored breathing.

Held her hand motionless against his breastbone with firm pressure and withdrew the touch of Living Force back across the bond. The world felt suddenly empty without the hum of vibration, and she had to focus again solely on the flesh. His. Her own ached, and she set that aside. With the hand hidden under the pillows, she tugged at the collar of his shirt and used it to dry sensitized skin, introducing a rougher sensation.

After a moment, she drew her hand from his chest, too, and gave him space to roll onto his back. Even in the low light, she could see wet tracks as he blinked out a few tears and sighed in relief. The weight of years in that sigh.

She watched him, concern growing in her gut that she had pushed too much, broken instead of mended.

"Hey," she said quietly.

Obi-Wan startled, sniffed, and started pawing clumsily at his eyes. He angled away, until Aylee took one wrist in her hand. Then he stilled and glanced over with questioning caution and let her study his face.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, sinking back into the pillow. The crease on his brow said he was giving it some thought.

"Light," he said eventually. "Exhausted." He smirked at that, and then his expression grew serious, and he focused on her fingers looped around his wrist. In the smallest whisper, "Loved."

The concern melted, and Aylee sagged with relief. She let him have his hand back and offered a small smile.

"Good."

Ben grinned at her, tear-flecked and tired, and then faced the ceiling and hid his face in his hands for several steadying breaths.

"I don't even know why I was crying," he said, his tone light as he dropped his hands to the covers. After a second, he turned and pinned her with a long look.

"What?"

He shrugged. "No agéd advice?"

" _Agéd_ advice?"

She popped up onto on elbow and glared down at him. But even mock anger could find no purchase. He looked innocent in the dark, when the dark so often paints with a sinister brush. And his cheeks were still stained and eyelashes wet, and be damned if she couldn't dispense with a little advice just for the beauty of him.

Aylee sighed and looked skyward, trying to find apt words. Tenderness and vulnerability hold hands. She hadn't known what would happen. Not precisely.

At length, she sighed and cast him a sidelong glance. "Orgasms are not the only form of release, and neither are they usually the most useful."

A triumphant grin bloomed across his face. "See?"

And then he pulled her in for a languorous kiss rimed with salt, which did nothing to aid the want throbbing in her core.

Another day. Away from sleeping padawans and watchful Councilors.

A kiss.

A promise.

Another day.


	28. Kalsunor's Moon

**AYLEE**

Aylee's eyes skimmed over the datapad without absorbing anything. She yawned and frowned and tried again. The Archive had long since settled into its red-orange glow of dusk—all except for her workspace, a tiny bright pool by a desk lamp.

Again, her focus slipped, and she let the datapad sag in her grasp. Paused for a breath. Listened.

She felt the touch of someone's attention and scowled down at a small, open book.

"Stop lurking," she said, and swiveled her chair to glance over her shoulder.

The Night Archivist slipped out of the shadows between the stacks. "This is my library, _m'lash'a_ ," he purred, his white robes painfully bright. "I don't lurk. I wait patiently for opportunities."

He slid closer on silent, predator feet and placed a cup of caf on the table within easy reach.

Aylee pulled her attention full away and turned to look up at him.

"And what sort of opportunity is this?"

His muzzle rippled with a smirk. "One to remind you that your species is not nocturnal."

She sighed and gave the caf a long look before setting everything aside and cradling the cup in both hands, more for warmth than anything. She watched the steam rise, and he did not fight the silence.

"Tritos Nal's workshop," she said eventually. "Did they tell you we found it?"

"And destroyed it."

Her gaze jerked up. "That wasn't our fault!"

"Peace, _m'lash'a_ ," he said, chuffing. "You saved the important things."

She felt that in her spine. A stirring in her gut.

"You've seen them?" She leaned forward without meaning to, eyes locked on his face, pulse quick.

The Night Archivist's face went still, and his eyes narrowed.

"Arr'k!" His name rolled off Aylee's tongue with a subtle purr and a sigh of breath, the closest she could come to a Horansi's natural speech.

He crossed powerful arms over his chest and flicked his tail as his ears turned flat.

"Yes."

Aylee's grip on her cup tightened, and she swiveled her chair back to her workspace, focusing on the pale blue globe floating above a holoprojector. With each passing breath, her fingers eased.

"Will you be part of the festival?" she asked over her shoulder.

"I will," he said, unperturbed by the deflection. "The sun doesn't burn me like some night denizens. And you?"

Aylee shook her head lightly. "There's something else I have to do."

Arr'k leaned his hip against the heavy table, his tail swishing in Aylee's periphery. He was silent a moment. Then touched a claw to the globe and gave it a little spin.

"Why are you staring at this moon?"

Aylee sighed again, took a drink of caf, and set the cup aside before looking up at him. He met her gaze with yellow, eerie eyes that cut to the bone. It took effort not to flinch from his stare.

"Because I don't know where to go from here," she told him.

He chuckled at that, revealing a flash of white fang against black silk fur. "You? Upstream, I would imagine."

She shot him a sour look, and he nudged the cup of caf toward her as he stood up straighter.

"If you fall asleep this time, I'm calling Tir-Zen to get you," he said, deep voice softly chiding.

Aylee grunted acknowledgment.

"I'm not a nursemaid," he said.

"I—"

"Or a delivery service."

Arr'k touched her shoulder briefly with one massive paw and then melted back into the darkness, leaving Aylee alone with her books once again. She spun the globe of Fidor and sipped at the too hot caf. Warmth and focus dribbled in, and she turned her attention to the datapad currently open to the _Journal of Armant Vin'Sei_ , an autobiography of the last great Stelante prophet who had attempted reconciliation with the home planet.

Aylee picked up the datapad and kept reading. Armant had died 800 years ago in utter ruin. According to the Ho'Din of Moltok, their race had not yet realized their blessèd becoming because they had allowed heathens to flourish like a blight. Moltok issued an ultimatum. Convert or die.

The Stelante massacre of Fidor was the last great mar on the culture's history. A forest fire that burned too hot because it had been allowed to overgrow too long. The Ho'Din learned to prune such tendencies in the future.

Armant believed the Stelante were closer than the homeworld to the great transmogrification. He wanted desperately to prove their progress, a desire pushed to fever pitch by the death of his mother.

 _"It will be soon now. We are blessed by the foreknowledge of her passing. Tomorrow we will take her to lie with the stone at Oostevla. The sacred garden of our ancestors will send her on her way. The botanists have arranged the potted flowers, fruiting trees, and fragrant bushes per her request to ease the passing._

 _She will be among them, part of them. I know this._

 _When the Flik'a kirki is complete, I shall see her again. But until then, I do not know how I will bear it. Utsa says we should be pleased she will have a chance to lie with the stone, which so many do not have. Pleased that she has been dying slowly. Pleased that we know the end is near!_

 _Pleased that she will be one with Dinegia and Dinegia with her._

 _And this I cannot argue._

 _My Utsa is wise, if sometimes cruel. And I do not see clearly these days for the tears."_

Aylee tipped her head to the side, frowning as she read over the passage a second time. Something niggling tugged inside her head at Armant's description. Funeral rites on Moltok involved forests and grasslands, returning the body to the dirt in sections of ground reserved for such things—great compost piles that would feed the future forest. Living dirt. Not stone.

Had the Stelante drifted so far from their roots? They who believed so strongly that the transmutation was possible?

Her frown deepened as she stared at the datapad, cold and heavy in her hand. She read the words again and felt the work of the translator in them. The Ho'Din's language was both more blunt and more exhaustively descriptive than Basic. This version . . . was _a_ version. Her heart beat a little faster, and something like agitation slipped through her belly, driving her to stand.

A scholar's work must be done right and to perfection. Someday someone might need it, and by then it would be too late—a forked road forking again. The future depended on present precision.

She tapped the menu on the datapad for more information and found a Special Collections reference. The Archive had a copy of the original. The untranslated text. Something about the feel and smell of original texts put her thoughts in a different order and made it easier to read, flip, reread, and place the information where it needed to go.

New found purpose rushed through her blood, and she swallowed down the rest of the caf in breathy gulps before grabbing her satchel and hurrying to the elevator to Special Collections as though she might miss it. Arr'k would leave her pile of work or put it away as he saw fit.

The elevator descended too slowly, and Aylee burst into the dark cavern as the doors whisked aside. Alabaster panels overhead pulsed to life as she marched straight to a faintly glowing terminal. It asked for a reference number, and she typed the code given in the translation. The entry form blinked out, and a location appeared in its place.

 _Proceed?_

She tapped yes, and several new lighting panels overhead came to life, the furthest one fading in and out like breathing as it waited. Aylee followed the path drawn by the lights, through a winding maze of hidden walls—an impossible path to remember—as entrances to different rooms came into view only briefly as she passed and disappeared back into black obscurity. The panels only glowed to light where you were going, not where you had been.

The path ended at the Kalsunor room, which lit itself fully as she stepped inside. She paused to glance around the collection of artifacts, much more than just books. Clothes. Boxes. Trinkets. Urns. A low chime sounded to let her know she was dawdling, and she turned to a shelf glowing green underneath a book laid flat.

Just inside the door, just inside every Special Collections room, was a sanitation unit to efficiently clean and dry hands before touching the antiques. Beside that, a dispenser for nitrile gloves, should anything be particularly hazardous. Aylee dropped her datapad into her bag and shoved her hands into the cleaner. She waited as the locks closed around her wrists, making a seal. Air, water, soap, scrub, warm air, and, though she couldn't see it, a blast of germicidal light for good measure.

It felt like touching a desert.

Freed, she lifted the _Journal of Armant Vin'Sei_ from its resting place, and the green glow on the shelf faded away. On the other side of the door, opposite the cleaning station, waited a navigation panel. Aylee pressed her newly clean palm to it and selected Front Reading Room. She clutched the journal gingerly to her chest and followed another snake of glowing lights back out into the cavernous vault. It led her to a glass room not far from the elevator, with nothing but a small table and two chairs inside. More amber light flooded the chamber as she stepped inside, and she set the book down carefully as she sat. The faint sound of a fan clicked on overhead. Temperature and moisture controlled, of course.

Aylee touched the cover lightly, and her stomach reacted with a slight gripping as she recognized the texture of scales. Whose scales, she couldn't tell. She lifted the cover with two fingers, opening the book slowly and listening for evidence of creaks and cracks. A thin, crisp page lifted as the cover came fully open, and she smoothed her fingertips over it, feeling the texture and easing it down.

Parchment.

Animal hide cover. Animal hide pages.

She nodded at this microcosm of Ho'Din society. They wouldn't sacrifice a tree for the creation of this object. But two different animals? That they would do, and on a scale large enough for mass printing. The page bore a printer's mark, a company name, and a year. This wasn't Armant's actual journal . . . just an early printing of a popular Stelante autobiography.

Aylee turned carefully to the passage about Armant's mother's funeral and fished her datapad from her bag with her free hand. She worked through it slowly, reading the original Ho'Din, checking against the dictionary in the datapad on her knees, and making notes on another one next to the original work.

"After the next sunrise (tomorrow) she will lie (or sleep or rest) with the . . . _rizoh._ "

She frowned at the end of the line that had most definitely said _stone_ in the translation. Rizoh, her nail pressed against the ink and eyes flicked down to the dictionary. Rizoh. Rock. She reversed it. Rock, rizoh. Pebble, rizit. Granite, afli. Crystal, rizoh.

The center of her chest stirred, and she tapped on the datapad with suddenly trembling fingers.

G—E—M.

Rizoh.

Aylee stared at the little screen as cold shivered down her spine. She made the note, barely breathing, and tried the sentence again.

"Tomorrow she will sleep with the gem," she said, voice hushed in the enclosed space. A dervish of mad joy spun up her throat in a laugh. "Sleep holding the Endless Gem." Who _wouldn't_ bring their dying to a resurrection stone? She laughed again. "They were using it. Stars, they were _using_ it."

Her hands floated above the book for a moment in indecision. Was she wrong? Could she be wrong? But it felt perfect, the picture suddenly whole. She gathered the datapads back into her bag with a clatter and left the book on the table for the collections droid to retrieve for reshelving.

She bounced on the balls of her feet as the elevator returned her to the main Archive floor and barely felt the ground as she rushed back to where her work lay untouched by the Night Archivist. A quick entry into the globe projector for Oostevla trawled the Archive's database for a location and produced a small dot on the globe.

Aylee sagged against the desk, putting her weight onto her hands as she laughed and watched the globe slowly spin while the dot pulsed. One minor translation error had hidden this treasure from the galaxy. And now . . . a dot on a map to guide the way. No more guessing. No more trials.

Here.

Here .

Here .

She wanted to run. Kiss. Sing!

With clumsy hands, she transferred the map and coordinates to her datapad and shut off the globe before anyone else might see. Not that they'd believe it. Not that they'd go looking. But still. The real announcement would be returning with it. Presenting it to the Council. Studying it. Publishing on it. She could see the symposium, the podium, the rapt eyes.

Grinning until it hurt, Aylee gripped the datapad in her hand hard and jogged out of the Archive, needing to tell _someone._ Needing to find Tee.

The Temple scheduled one full day for festival preparations. All classes were canceled. All normal meetings suspended. Activity would be focused on the landing bays, the tailoring department, the kitchen, and the hydroponics level. Obi-Wan and Anakin had spent the day sending assignments to everyone's comlinks with times and locations. And the following morning, they would guide the floats to the Promenade and take their place in the parade assembly.

Aylee bowed to her room full of anxious padawans as a chime marked the end of class—the last Art History session before festival break. At the bright sound, desks suddenly shifted. Murmurs rose.

"Enjoy the festival!" she called to the backs of heads and then glanced over at Tir-Zen leaning patiently in a corner.

A mischievous smile spread across her face, and Tee nudged himself up to standing. Technically they could take the night off and leave in the morning, but Tir-Zen had laughed at the thought. What were they going to do? Sleep?

Aylee had barely slept last night as it was. Visions of glowing globes. Moons. A gem whose real shape she didn't know.

"Should we say goodbye?" Tee asked, after checking the door to be sure the last student had left.

Aylee grabbed her bag from her desk and slung on the strap.

"No," she replied, shaking her head and shooing him toward the door. "They're busy. That's the whole point, right? We'll be there and back."

They fell into step and headed for the South Hangar at a measured pace. Not too hurried. Just people with something to do, not criminals on the lamb. Staff and padawans sometimes nodded and bowed their heads in passing greeting, and Aylee let her excitement bubble up in response. Let them think it was for star blooms.

The elevator door swished open on the hangar level, and Aylee nearly collided with a Jedi running down the corridor, his arms too full of towering star blooms to see. A flash of premonition had her turning at the last second, so they barely grazed shoulders.

"Sorry!" A voice sang, as its owner stumbled side to side, found himself, and ran on.

Aylee turned to watch him go, marveling at the sheer number of people filling the hallway.

"Master Desai!" From behind.

She jumped and turned to the familiar face of Master Ki-Adi-Mundi.

"Apologies," he said, bowing his head. "I just wanted to congratulate you on the recovery of the Sith holocrons."

Aylee blinked at him. "But . . . I thought they were—"

"There is debate," he said, and winked. "As there should be."

Something warmed in her chest, and she might have beamed at him. "Thank you, Master! I . . . believe they are valuable." A composed understatement. A dissertation in an enthusiastic nod.

Workers with carts jostled around them as they stood in the middle of the busy throng, and Aylee became acutely aware of being a stone in a river.

"Well. Much to do!" Ki-Adi-Mundi said and wove around her to join in the flow. "Blessed festival!"

"Sacred tidings!" she called back, waving until he turned away.

Tee stood against the wall, out of the way, waiting, and Aylee gestured with a look and a nod that they should go. Together, they moved against the current, and as they drew closer to the South Hangar, the crowd thinned. Then vanished altogether. The hangar doors swished open with a gust of warm, Coruscanti air, and Aylee had to hold herself back from a run. Even now, long after the planet had been consumed by metal and industry, it remembered spring. Of potential. Of becoming. The promise held in the zephyrs and sunlight and drenching rains.

The perfect time for a festival.

The perfect time to _do_ instead of gather and prepare.

Aylee strode out into the afternoon light and the hangar devoid of motion, her gaze pinned on the _Vesper_. No droids scuttled about cleaning the landing pads. The maintenance crews had all be reassigned.

"It's almost spooky," Tee muttered, and she shot him a grin.

When a place normally full of activity is suddenly devoid of it, the absence reverberates. The Library did it too, and its activity was so long absent.

Glancing around might have looked suspicious, so she didn't. Just squared her shoulders and kept not-running for the ship, until they were there, keying in the unlock sequence, striding into the hold, and settling into the cockpit.

Tir-Zen set himself in the pilot seat without comment and ran through a pre-flight check with focused efficiency. He flicked switches, entered coordinates to get the hyperspace drive calculating, and glanced over with his hand poised above the flight controls.

Aylee's eyebrows lifted. "Well, go!"

And they went.

Up through a corridor cleared of city speeder traffic and into the planetary lanes. The sky was a diamond dust cloud of ships. Millions poured into the Core World for the festival, all needing directions, docking control. From single person corvettes to heavy interstellar cargo ships, everyone vied for a spot. And everyone waited. As they left the atmosphere, strings of vessels spiraled around the planet and around each other, jockeying for space in three dimensions and the right to descend to the surface.

Tee kept a steady hand, sweeping around larger vessels like piloting an asteroid field. He glanced at a display in the corner of the viewscreen.

"There are ships behind us," he rasped.

"There are ships _everywhere_."

"No, I mean"—he plunged them into a quick dive to avoid a Rhodian freighter—"following us."

On the screen, a string of small ships bobbed back into view, having just dodged the freighter themselves.

Aylee glanced back into the cargo hold, as though she could see them in their wake, and shrugged.

"Probably just trying to escape the planet and saw someone who seemed to know the way." She settled back in her seat and smiled at him. "Take it as a compliment."

Tee huffed, staring at the screen, shoulders tense, and concentrated on getting them through the blockade. Eventually, they left the glut of ships behind, and the _Vesper_ cruised into open space.

Tee let out a sigh and relaxed back into his chair.

"Setting course for Fidor," he said, tapping a button.

And the ship jumped to hyperspace.

Fidor was a full 24 hour flight away. The _worst_ 24-hour flight.

Aylee kept moving. Co-pilot seat to cargo hold. To lounge to seat to quarters to kitchenette to cargo. There was nowhere to run but her heart sang _to-do, to-do, to-do_. She checked maps of Fidor but couldn't read the words. They slipped out as soon as her eyes passed over them, and the fifth time through a sentence she gave up.

Tir-Zen brought food and extra strong caf, then decided to work out in the lounge instead of the cargo hold, practicing his forms without the assistance of the Force until he splayed exhausted on the floor. Ataru pushed him in ways a consular's forms never would, and he was getting better.

The ship counted hours on Coruscant time and dimmed in conjunction with night. Aylee sat in the pilot's chair, her feet up on the co-pilot's spot.

"Ma-aster . . ." The word stretched around a yawn as Tee strained his voice to call down from the lounge.

"You go, I'll stay," she said, waving though he couldn't have seen. Someone had to keep watch for trouble, and even if she was bored, it was the _wired_ sort of bored—a child demanding to be entertained and satisfied by nothing.

Oostevla. Fidor. Gems. Rocks.

Falling rocks. Heavy. Claustrophobic, dust and choking.

Gleaming Sith red holocrons, with a pulse like a heart.

Sliced between flashes of memory and dream, like illustrations in a book: the plane of Obi-Wan's back against her chest, the feel of him breathing under her palm, the scent of his skin as he shuddered . . .

Perhaps she should have taken first shift in quarters after all.

Aylee turned her attention inward, to the place where her Force sense rested. And from there, outward, to Obi-Wan's presence, glowing like an ember, radiating heat.

 _Peaceful,_ she thought, and took it to mean he was already sleeping. It would be cruel to wake him. Preparations for the festival had been running him ragged if the squeeze of stress she'd felt bleeding over the bond was anything to go by. Affection burrowed in her chest, and she sent some of that across, like a blessing of good dreams, before turning her attention away.

The viewport showed nothing but an endless streak of stars. The flight controls maintained their monotonous indicators. And eventually Aylee pulled out a datapad to catch up on a holonovel whose plot she'd half-forgotten.

Tir-Zen came down to take over as the ship's lights started brightening for dawn. Aylee slid onto her bunk with aching eyes and a mind insisting there was too much to think about to sleep. Distracting memories. Didn't she want the memories? But weariness won out, and the border between wake and dream blurred without notice.

It was the turbulence that woke her.

A suddenly racing pulse and shiver in the dark. She flicked on the lights with an effort of Force, and the room glinted back in brilliant plastoid and metal. Empty.

Her heart pounded. She swallowed hard, and glanced around, holding herself up sitting, one hand raised and ready.

 _Thumpthump._

 _Thumpthump._

The adrenaline ebbed with a shiver, and her breathing slowed. And _then_ the sensation clarified itself. A splash of Force across her back so hard it knocked out a startled breath, and cold leeched down her arms like ice floes.

Sith space.

Aylee drew a breath, slow and deliberate. She adjusted her shoulders to the pressure of the river of Force. Let the chop pass across her senses, invigorated by the bracing chill. And then she got up, tossing on her robe and clipping her saber to her belt. Sith space meant they were close.

She slid down the railings to the cockpit with a burst of childish glee and dropped into the co-pilot's seat with a flutter. A cup of cooled caf sat waiting, and she picked it up with a smile.

"You are—" She swiveled to face Tee and froze, the smile quickly melting. ". . . not okay."

Tir-Zen held two fingers against each temple, his face screwed into a grimace. He shook his head slightly and took careful breaths.

Aylee set her cup aside untouched.

"Tee," she said, gently.

He didn't look over, and concern sparked like needles in her chest. He hadn't been well the last time they entered Sith space either.

"Describe it."

He unclenched his jaw at the command, and his teeth chattered as he took a fortifying breath.

"Pressure," he said, scowling harder. "Cold. Like a spike. And . . . like my brain will explode if I don't—" Tee flattened his fingers against his skull.

The concern swelled. _Pressure . . ._ internal pressure. Her thoughts flitted through Force Mechanics and Cosmic Force theory. She scanned Tee like a test subject.

"Can you feel the Force?"

He nodded.

"What's it feel like?"

His lips pressed thin for a moment. Then, "Like . . . it's . . . dragging me down. Knocking me over. Going in circles." He sucked a breath. "Going the wrong way."

A low whine escaped him, and he curled toward his knees.

She felt that too—the going in circles. Like it was trapped. A caged animal that couldn't get—

Aylee's eyes widened with a spark of inspiration.

"Okay." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I have an idea. I want you to use the Force for something."

One of Tee's hands dropped as he turned and squinted at her with one eye.

"What?" Confusion.

"Use the Force for something. Anything. It doesn't matter. Better vision, better hearing. Just pick something." She reached for her caf. "Hold up this cup."

A tremor wracked Tir-Zen's hand as eyed the cup and lifted his fingers toward it. A widening gesture, and Aylee let the cup go into the grip of unseen energy. It shot up several feet, sloshing caf onto the floor, before her apprentice got himself under control. As his concentration sharpened, his hand grew steady, and the cup lowered back down to float between them as if set on a table. Tee's breathing grew deeper as he uncurled, though the frown never quite left his face. He kept his eyes on the cup.

Aylee kept her eyes on him.

"Better?" she asked, studying hand and eye and scowl.

Tee swallowed and nodded. He chanced a look at her and lifted an eyebrow before bringing his focus back.

Aylee sat back in her chair and gave the cup a little spin.

"The Dark Side is wild. Active. It turns back on itself, moves in strange directions. It _wants_ to be used, and either you use it"—she gestured at the cup—"or it can overwhelm you. Build up and up with nowhere to go."

Tir-Zen nodded slowly. "A river flooding its banks," he muttered.

"Yes. At least . . . that's my theory. Normally, when it isn't permeating everything, you'd have to look for it or cultivate that sort of abandon. But here . . ." She shrugged. "Sith space is the flood."

"And the cold?" Tee tore his eyes away again. "You don't look cold."

"I feel it. Just . . . like a breath of mountain air."

His expression turned skeptical, and Aylee tsked.

"Try to think of it as invigorating."

"And if I can't?"

Aylee leaned and plucked her cup out of the grasp of his Force hold.

"Then think warm thoughts. Specifically, the Light Side filling you up. The Dark Side calming as it passes through you."

Still skeptical. Which was fair. Belami hadn't gone into great detail about how to shoulder the burden of Dark-warped space. And . . . Aylee felt the scouring of it less than others seemed to. A skill she hadn't particularly cultivated or practiced. It simply was. And she hoped it might simply _be_ for Tee as well.

Tir-Zen watched her a moment longer, thoughtful, then swiveled to face the cargo hold. With a flick of his hand, he popped open a door built into the wall and plucked out a medicine ball used for training. He brought it swiftly toward the cockpit, then splayed his fingers and forced it to slow, until it eventually hovered by his side. He turned back to the viewscreen and carefully lowered his hand, keeping the ball where it was.

Aylee cocked an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Really, improved sight would have done just as well, she thought, and without the need for props. After a moment, she turned to the screen of streaking stars.

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost, Master. Three hours until we come out of hyperspace."

Three hours . . .

Her skin prickled. Almost there. So _far_ away.

Aylee took another swallow of caf and hopped to her feet, her body itching for motion. As her gaze swept the cargo hold, the urge to fight sprang through her muscles. Maybe her padawan was on to something. Practice sounded perfect.

The hyperspace drive ticked and whirred as it shut off, and the _Night Vesper_ dropped back into normal space. Streaks of stars snapped into pinpoints, and the dark orb of Kalsunor loomed behind the barely visible speck of Fidor outlined on the view screen. It was always best to jump in well clear of a planet's satellites and navigate in under normal propulsion.

Aylee wiped sweat from her forehead with her sleeve and leaned on the back of Tir-Zen's chair. They had arrived at the planet's northern pole, looking down at a surface half cast in sun, half shadow. In the daylight, Kalsunor had the color of red clay stippled with blackish green. From their vantage at the pole, nothing resembled ocean.

Fidor, tiny in comparison, moved across the pole, from shadow into sun.

"Take us in," Aylee said, her gaze locked to the small moon.

"Yes, Master."

When Fidor itself filled the screen, Aylee called up a surface map and plotted Oostevla's location. Tee required no direction. He dropped them easily into the moon's atmosphere and throttled back. The ship skimmed over a range of jagged mountains that looked nothing like the majestic peaks of Ossus.

Fidor—or at least Fidor nearing Oostevla—was a stone forest. A formation of deeply creviced blades of rock stuffed with bright green trees. There was not a flat surface to be seen. Just jagged crags and tree tops held together by a blanket of fog that obscured the true depths of the labyrinth of crevasses. They watched the marker for Oostevla grow closer.

"Slow," Aylee whispered, standing as though she could peer down at the stone forest better.

Tir-Zen complied. And yet even as the map claimed they were on top of it . . .

Stone blades and hauntingly still trees, rising from a fog that peeled away in tufts. Nothing that looked like a city. Nothing that looked shaped by sentient life at all.

Tee swung the ship around for another pass.

"Below the fog?" he asked.

"Has to be."

Tir-Zen let out an annoyed grunt as they passed over the marker and he had to circle the ship again.

"We can't land if we can't see the ground," he said.

The medicine ball he'd kept hovering at his side faltered and then slowly lowered to the floor. Aylee glanced at the ball, then him, catching mostly profile, and he resettled his grip on the ship's controls.

"No," she agreed. "We need to clear some of it away."

Tee's eyebrow quirked. "Planning on leaning out the back?"

Aylee grinned and turned to him. "Why don't we try burning it off with the thrusters first. Take us lower—"

"—and fire the landing thrusters." He finished, nodding as he spoke and already starting the landing sequence that would unlock the jets.

They wouldn't stay _on_ , though. That wasn't what they were for.

The _Vesper_ flew a tight but widening spiral pattern starting on the Oostevla map marker, burning the landing thrusters in the longest bursts it would allow. Eventually, enough fog either burned up or got swept aside to reveal a ledge where one of the tops of a stone blade had broken off and fallen. A kilometer out, they took the gift, such as it was, and set the ship down.

Aylee threw on her cloak as she marched for the cargo hold. The engines spun down with a familiar whirr as the _Vesper_ settled its weight. And then . . . a click. And a sudden lightness. Aylee felt the weight of her body ease. Her joints decompressed as the artificial gravity of the ship swiftly gave way to the natural habitat of the moon. Her next step came effortless. Free. Exhilaration bubbled through her and the Force naturally twined around her limbs in chill runnels, responding to the instinctive fear in her body that insisted she was falling.

She flexed her hands.

The bay door cracked open and descended, and cold, wet air rushed across Aylee's face. Sent a chill down her spine to match the Dark Side's touch. She waited, tracing the sound of Tee's footsteps, and then proceeded out into what must be morning on Fidor, given the path of its orbit. A brisk morning.

Aylee took a deep breath that left a wanting in her lungs. "The air's thin," she said, frowning as she wrapped her cloak a little tighter.

Behind her, the _Vesper_ 's bay door shucked closed, and Tee's boots made a strangely delicate sound on the gravel-strewn rock. He moved carefully, scowling as his body pitched forward when he tried to stop.

"It's a small moon," he said, holding one hand on front of himself as he straightened, as though pushing off a table top.

Aylee bounced on the balls of her feet, popping herself gently into the air. She peered over with a smile that melted her apprentice's grimace and then let the motion come to a stop. Up and down was easy. But the mechanics of humanoid motion depending a great deal on gravity within a narrow band. Gait, balance, and friction played a part. Their mass, unchanged in the light gravity, made inertia a problem. A body in motion, etc.

With exaggerated slowness, so as not to create much inertia through strength of muscle, they both moved closer to the cliff's edge and peered down. The cliff face wasn't exactly flat. The stone forest blades _did_ taper toward the top, but in no sense might it be considered walkable. Aylee nudged a stone over the side and watched it _ping, plink, ping_ in long, slow arcs down the steep incline. She scrubbed her foot back and forth on the gravel, barely feeling the resistance of her leg and not much drag on her boot.

"Master?" Tee asked, extra breathless from the paltry atmosphere.

Low gravity, low friction, and the Force which disregarded both as irrelevant to its equation.

Aylee nodded down at the near sheer drop and the waving, deep green forest canopy below. Thinking it through. Convincing herself. The pull of the gem tugging at her courage.

"How do we get down?" Tir-Zen rasped.

She offered his earnest orange gaze a wicked, tight-lipped smile.

"We're going to slide."

His brows lifted, and he peered over the edge again. "But . . ."

"Just think of the mountain as a guide. We just . . . fall with the Force. Like the end of a long jump, when you want to cushion your landing."

He nodded, his eyes still on the cliff face. "I used the Force to keep from falling over."

"Yes! Exactly like that." Aylee gestured toward the canopy. "The whole way down."

Perhaps holding up a mountain had gone to her head. The Force had limits. And it couldn't solve every problem. But . . . they needed to reach the forest floor. And falling should be the easy part.

Tir-Zen pressed his lips into a tight line and squared his shoulders. He glanced over at Aylee and nodded once, bringing his hands into a ready position at his sides. Aylee clipped a loop on her satchel to a hook on her belt to keep it secure and shook out her arms, the fabric of her cloak seeming to float around her wrists.

She let the power come. Felt it flow around her legs, up her back, across her shoulders, and down her arms. It ran down her fingers and fell to the stone. She could feel the surface of the blade, the weight of the air, the wet of the rising fog.

And then she bounced lightly up.

And pushed with the Force slightly forward.

Until her feet found the flat of the cliffside, but no purchase, and she slid down it like ice on glass.

The canopy rushed them.

One moment there was blue sky and cloud and the pressure of the Force holding her up, slowing her fall, keeping her steady. And the next—a wall of tree trunks. The angle of the rock beneath her feet shifting. The solid mass of the forest floor punching skyward.

Aylee threw a Push down and kicked away from the stone blade, transferring all her momentum into the grip of the Force. The ground skimmed by, just out of reach. And the kick—too much— turned into a somersault. She scissored through the tops of trees as she dropped, spun wildly by the deflections. Sky, green, dark, sky.

 _Panic!_

The ground.

The ground was—

Everywhere, life and Force. Columns of rushing power. Green, brown, inarticulate vision. With a cry, she reached for the columns—the trees—and gripped with lashes of Force, binding a web between them and her own weightless body.

Snapped to a halt.

She held tight. Panting. And after a second realized she had her eyes screwed shut.

But the motion had stopped. And everywhere the river of Force flowed swift but predictable. She focused on that, and then cracked her eyes open.

Everything was wrong. Her pulse quickened as she looked down—up—

She looked at the _ground_ several meters above her head, red and green leaves layering over one another in a thick tangle. Reaching dirt meant going through them, so Aylee called her saber to her hand.

With an effort of will, she let the lashings of Force go one at a time, righting herself with the ground before dropping. Her lightsaber sang through the foliage as she tossed it down in a neatly spinning disk that returned to her hand as her feet set silently down onto the dark forest floor. With a calming breath, she smoothed her hair into place and scanned her surroundings.

Leaves still crackled as they burned from the touch of the saber's blade, sending up small threads of smoke. It might have looked like thick underbrush, but up close the leaves were so thin as to be translucent. Layer upon layer of paper-thin plates had given the impression of depth and density.

Aylee touched one, and the whole broad leaf lifted and flexed like a sail. The shape was impossible. Too flat, too thin, the stem too long and narrow. The whole structure of it should have collapsed. And on Ossus it would have, but not here.

Here, the understory grew two meters tall and draped fan-like fronds off fragile limbs.

A shushing rustle drew Aylee's attention, and she turned, her lightsaber whipping to a high, ready position in one hand.

"Tee?" she called.

The wall of foliage in front of her parted, long stems bending practically to the ground, and Tir-Zen stepped into view, holding one hand in out in front of himself. Parting the way.

Aylee clicked off her saber and lowered her arm.

"Master," Tee said, his voice carrying a hint of humor and pride that communicated quite clearly how well he'd made it down the mountainside.

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't gloat."

"I didn't say anything."

He joined her in the small clearing she'd made, using the Force both for leverage to stay upright and to push the plants a little further away. He could do it _without_ holding his hand out, his Force control was better than that, but he merely shrugged when Aylee gave him a quizzical look. If he was going to clear the path, the least Aylee could do was navigate. She pulled a holoprojector from a pouch and called up a small map of Fidor.

Oostevla wasn't far.

The stone forest landscape, however, made quick travel impossible, and "not far" took on a frustrating new meaning.

Move slowly. Step carefully. Use the Force for balance.

Flat land became a foreign concept. And the thin atmosphere meant having to rest despite feeling like they'd barely exerted themselves.

Tee found himself a relatively flat rock to sit on while Aylee matched the upcoming zig-zag around a blade up with her map. It was in between glancing down and up into the distance that she spotted the first sign of sentient life. Not current life. But—

"Tee—" she whispered anyway.

Tir-Zen jumped to his feet too quickly, throwing himself into the trunk of one of the canopy trees. They hadn't looked up the name, but unlike the broad-leafed understory, the canopy trees boasted exceptionally long needles—longer than a person was tall—bending gently from their branches high overhead. They should have broken at the slightest breeze.

Tee braced himself against the tree and turned slowly, looking chagrined. Aylee pointed toward the canopy not too far ahead and waited as he looked, frowned, cocked his head, and then suddenly realized what he was seeing.

"Is that bridge?" His rough voice sounded loud in the silent forest.

"A bridge. And over there"—she pointed at another tree—"a landing? A floor?"

"They lived in the trees."

"Just like on Moltok. Only look at this place . . . It's pristine." Aylee's eyes glittered as she smiled, and she pushed forward into the undergrowth. Caution was barely enough to keep her from running. The Stelante hadn't ruined their environment like the Ho'Din had on their native planet. At least not enough to have left an obvious trace.

Aylee's foot slipped on a particularly slick surface, and she crashed onto all fours, smashing a knee in the process.

"Master!" Tee's alarmed cry as he drew closer.

And she should care about the knee, but . . .

The surface was _unnaturally_ flat beneath her hands. Aylee tilted her head, peering down at what had looked like just more decomposing leaves. With . . . lettering. Frowning, she dragged a hand through the muck, smearing aside dirt and rot.

Her knee throbbed as she stood up, peering down at the writing and then up at the canopy. Between forks in the tree trunks, flat surfaces still clung, balanced or too well-wedged to fall. Walls, maybe?

Aylee called a bit of Force to her command and swept a push across the understory, bending the vegetation, breaking some. Haphazard lumps of green-brown moss revealed themselves near the trunks of trees.

"It's all rotten," Tee said.

Aylee nodded and let the foliage return to its natural height, obscuring the ruin once again.

"Somehow, I think that's exactly what they would have wanted."

"For their civilization to be forgotten?"

Aylee wiped her hands on her cloak, shaking her head. "For the Dinegia to reclaim what they took. If it lasted forever, they'd just be stealing from nature." She craned to look up at the remnant of the tree dwellings and took a few unconscious steps before Tee grabbed her shoulder.

Startled, she stared at him, and he tipped his head toward another unnaturally flat section of ground. Of course. As if they hadn't already had to be annoyingly careful.

But the interesting things weren't _on_ the ground. The interesting things were up there. She pointed, then swept her hand.

"Do you see? Cabling. Strung between the trees."

"Power lines?"

"Maybe. Or a path."

"And you think we should follow it."

The only evidence of Stelante civilization? Damn right they were following it.

It was the barest and emptiest of highways. And it was all Aylee could see as they journeyed through the understory like they were blind. Cautious hands reaching before them. Slow, uneasy steps. Tir-Zen clung to her elbow just in case one of them might fall.

While above . . .

Oostevla took form. First just in Aylee's imagination, as she pictured solid walkways where the cables led. Placed buildings in large trees. Saw in her mind's eye Ho'Din's lithe forms traversing easily in the light gravity. But the images solidified as they closed on the map point.

Dappled light fell to eerie darkness as the canopy thickened from a density of trees. The cabling strung between them grew in girth and complexity. Not just woven materials but grown wood sprouting branches and needles of its own. The Stelante Ho'Din had fashioned the flora to their liking.

Aylee paused, straining to see, and let some Force flow into her vision, washing the darkness with new detail. Her gaze traced the foundation of a walkway from one tree to another and down the trunk. The whole of it was living, twisted and twining, but alive. Somewhere in the middle, tendrils knotted together, and the Force flowed freely between them, the trees themselves unable to distinguish one individual from another.

Struck, she turned, staring back the way they'd come, her heart pounding a little with the thrill of understanding. Tee's grip on her elbow tightened, a grounding bit of pain.

"Master?"

"They were still growing it."

She tilted her head, picturing the thin cabling—the dead cabling.

"Growing what?"

"The city!" She gestured back the way they'd come. "They"—then back at the walkway ahead, still bearing a solid path—"They didn't just build. They had to _grow_ new locations. It fell apart because it wasn't _done_."

She glanced at Tee, and he turned a skeptical expression toward the still-standing walkway.

"You think there's more like this."

Blood and Force rushed, thrumming, while cool air burned her lungs.

"A lot more," she said, and dragged him toward where the forest looked darkest.

Only it wasn't the canopy blocking out the sun. As they slid between tree trunks and pushed aside waving fans of leaves, the flat shapes of buildings took form over head. They stepped under the shadow and into the sudden, moist, and empty floor beneath Oostevla's ruins.

 _More catacombs_ , Aylee's mind provided, and she shivered at the wet cold slap of memory.

Tir-Zen released his hold and turned in a careful circle, surveying their surroundings now that he could see more than a few meters ahead. It smelled of earthy rot. Not the dead putrid muck of the catacombs, but something healthy and fertile.

"I don't think we'll find much down here," he said, and ignited his lightsaber, casting a glow up to the bottoms of the Stelante structures.

"No." Aylee turned back toward the edge, where the broad leaves waved slightly in a breeze. "No, we've got to go up. And hope they were decent builders."

The Ho'Din did not construct their elevated cities with easy access to the ground. The whole point was _remaining_ elevated. On Moltok, to escape the pollution and sickness they had created. On Fidor, Aylee wondered if it was just tradition at play or something else. They had seen no evidence of mining or resource extraction on any sort of scale. The forest floor looked . . . unusually pristine. Natural, except that it had sprung a city in its boughs.

She eyed a solid-looking walkway from below, trying to judge the distance. Within the city proper, the walkways had sprouted sides and railings along with decking that was not manipulated wood. She could sense no Force flowing through it, at least.

"Stay here," she said, and touched Tir-Zen's shoulder once before sliding forward for a good angle.

The Force boiled around her legs, splashing up and over her back. Mad and joyous with potential. A crouch. A leap. Barely a leap. She shot into the air as though weightless, low gravity and Dark Side power driving her effort clear into overload, even after she'd told herself to be gentle.

Too high.

Too high—the canopy came rushing at her.

A flick of will the other way. She grabbed the decking and pulled, jerking herself out of a natural arc and straight for the walkway's surface. It was only a light redirection, and yet all the forces were off. What should have been a simple jump became a study in Force manipulation. A push to change speed. A pull to alter direction. She landed with too much forward momentum, catching herself with the Force before stumbling into the railing.

It should have been simple. She panted, gripping the railing hard. Stupid gravity. Stupid atmosphere. Stupid moon. But a little breathlessness was a small price for a galactic treasure. And she _had_ made it. So.

At Tir-Zen's call from below, Aylee lessened her grip and leaned over, waving. She gave the decking a few taps with her boot and edged along still holding the rail to test a few more. Stone, as far as she could tell. Probably carved from the stone forest. The trees on either side of the walkway grew thick around the decking plate, as though they were engulfing it slowly.

Maybe they were.

Tee took a different approach and shot himself straight up toward the platform. No graceful arc or stylish flip as Jedi often did. He ascended like a launched rocket and reached for Aylee's hands as she leaned over the railing. She caught his wrist, gripped, and turned upward momentum into a swing. He turned as his feet flung up and over, and landed with a slight crouch to cushion what would have been fast, powerful landing.

They both paused for a moment, still gripping each other's forearms, and waited to see if gravity had any more tricks. Tee lifted his brows and slowly smiled as he straightened.

"Nicely done," Aylee told him, replacing the grip on his arm with a tug on his front horn.

"Thank you, Master." He blinked once, slow and pleased, and turned with her to survey their new surroundings.

The shape of Oostevla revealed itself more from the proper plane. Buildings clustered not just on trees, but increasingly between them. Walkways turned to boulevards turned to walled in structures. Abandoned but remarkably whole. Time and history hadn't broken them down as much as the outskirts had suggested. Empty, but not yet a ruin. There was something curious in that. Something picking at Aylee's mind to investigate. Take notes. _Notice_ harder. What's the rush?

But the siren's call of the gem turned her attention. So close. So very nearly there.

Where she didn't know, precisely. But here. Present. Now. A moment of discovery about to be. She could taste the potential on the crisp air, scented with the sharp smell of the odd trees.

The Stelante had been on to something with the living walkways. Railings made of trees sprouted branches—natural hand-holds—which let them lope along without tripping over their own mass. The flat paving stones helped, too.

The dot marking the center of Oostevla on the map led them east.

What they couldn't see, even from their new vantage point in the canopy, was the convergence of the Stelante's highways. Like veins in a body, gathering toward the heart. The condition of the walkways shepherded them there as surely as any map, as the broader, wider, older, more established pathways proved the most resilient to decay. They took on decorations. Carvings. Inlaid stone. And eventually the heart of Oostevla unfurled.

From a central crossroads in the shape of a star, every way led to more forest but one. Hemmed in by trees given free rein to grow, the grey-green surface of a mountainside with a dark cave entrance stood waiting.

Thunder roared in Aylee's chest as she stared at it, and she felt her pulse in her fingertips. The urge to run thrummed through her body worse than when they escaped the Temple. This was why they'd come. It had to be. As they neared, it became clear that the mountainside cave was no natural creation. At least not entirely. At first, the moss-covered surfaces made no sense. But the closer they got, the more she could see through the overgrowth.

A small laugh of wonder escaped her. "Leaves," she said, pointing at the palimpsest of carved motifs and living moss. That, she thought, the Stelante would appreciate and wondered whether they or time had cultivated it. The mouth of the cave, too, had been shaped by sentient hands. Carved with straight sides and an arch—the precise geometry at odds with the natural curves of wood that dominated the remains of the city.

It should have been pure darkness beyond the door. Instead, cones of sunlight illuminated the floor at regular intervals. Enough to see by, even between the pools.

After a moment of silent marveling, Tir-Zen took a step toward the threshold of shadow marking the interior and cast a glance over his shoulder. Aylee unclipped her lightsaber and offered a small nod. Worry creased Tee's brow, and he called his saber to his hand as well, the set of his stance and body changing as curiosity gave way to caution. Tritos Nal's workshop had seemed harmless too.

They proceeded in with careful steps and Force balanced motion. Tir-Zen crept into the first disc of sunlight as though it might burn, but it was just light, and Aylee grinned at his relieved exhale. She stopped as she passed through it, peering up for a source. The Ho'Din must have carved holes through the cave ceiling. But light can only travel in a straight line, so either they riddled the mountain with light shafts, or the cave was only illuminated at certain times of day. From inside the structure, there was no way to tell which.

The moss hadn't stopped at the cave entrance. It carpeted the interior, swallowing the sound of their footsteps, and it was not alone. Vines clung to the walls, spreading broad leaves that reached for the light. Some had gorged themselves too well, and their dead ropes lay across the floor from wall to wall, slowly being consumed by the mosses. Small plants with brilliant blue and violet flowers sprung from the moss floor in clusters within the circles of sunlight.

It was, Aylee thought, a fitting memorial to the Stelante cult that they should be gone and the flora should thrive.

The cave turned, and the pools of light led them back out into the open. Into the mountains. Instead of thick forest and canopy, they stood in a crevasse between blades of the stone forest, a constructed path stretching across the drop to a second cave. Aylee glanced down at the trees and jagged rocks below the bridge.

Tir-Zen stepped out onto the heavy square stones. A shadow flitted across the path in front of him, large enough to be a cloud but too quick. He frowned up at the sky.

"What?"

Aylee moved to his shoulder and tipped her head back, scanning for what so captured his attention.

"I don't know," he rasped, then shrugged. "Nothing."

She eyed him. "A vision?"

He dropped his gaze to hers, still looking serious. "No, Master. Just a shadow."

She watched him a second longer, then gave the bridge and the sky and the crevasse another look. It all appeared as placid as the Force was not. On instinct, she opened her senses, and the Dark Side roared in, blinding, deafening. And something _pulled_. It turned the rush of the Force around her legs into a riptide.

With effort, Aylee closed off the sensation and turned her attention from the magnetic drag. She blinked and found herself panting, her heart racing, and her eyes locked on the cave ahead of them.

"Come on," she said, and lurched into motion.

A large cavern swallowed them on the other side of the bridge. Its darkness held cool, moist air and the sound of dripping water. It smelled like mineral and humus, even though the entry passage was bare polished wall. If the passage had once been a natural cave, the Ho'Din had shaped it to smooth walls and an arched ceiling—a proper hall. The hall curved to the left and then back to the right, forming a natural barrier and barring a line of sight from the bridge to the interior.

They stepped into a round room alight with brilliance. Sunlight shot down in four shafts through the carved ceiling and struck mirrors that Aylee turned in a small circle to see. These then reflected the beams back toward a central chandelier of quartz-like crystal jutting from the rock. The crystal, carved and augmented, spread the sunlight around the cavern. A spotlight illuminated a wall of thick vines and layered leaves, while everything else rested in dim shadow, visible only by ambience.

The pull in the Force sucked on Aylee's arms with prickling chill. Drawing in. Drawing forward. She stared at the spotlit patch of wall with a fluttering heart and slowly clipped her lightsaber to her belt.

"It's here," she said in a whisper.

Tee nodded once. "I feel it."

She hadn't expected the sensation of inexorable motion, and this close it proved too strong to just put out of mind. Jedi quickly accustomed themselves to compartmentalizing. Don't think about the Force, don't focus on the Force unless you _want_ to feel it. But sometimes, _it_ wanted, and you could no more turn it off than turn off touch.

With a quick glance at the floor, just in case, and very little sense of self-preservation, Aylee let the pull carry her across the chamber. She gripped the vines and heaved, directing Force into her muscles. A sheet ripped free of the wall and folded on itself as it came down. Aylee danced out of the way of the whispering leaves, and her jaw dropped as she saw what it had been hiding.

A lens-shaped altar sat flush against the curved wall. Above it, the wall bore more of the leaf motif they'd seen on the entrance, and above that a vein of crystal like the one hanging from above. The light struck the partially revealed vein, and the room grew brighter. Tir-Zen rushed to grab his own handful of vines, and as they cleared the growth, the contents of the room became clear.

A single altar as the central focus.

Pots of long-dead plants massed together and balanced on one another in piles on either side of the room below glowing veins of crystal that bathed them all in refracted sunlight.

Aylee barely noticed any of it.

"Tee."

"I see it."

 _Stars._

 _Stars above._

She could almost taste its color.

A gem sat at the center of a carved stone flower on the altar, surrounded by a bed of half-dead moss that spilled over the side and into a blanket across the floor. The Endless Gem—faceted, red, and shining. It cast refractions like blood splatter across the wall.

The Endless Gem.

Here. At last.

Real.

Aylee nearly forgot caution as she reached for it—then hesitated at Tee's sucked breath and a flash of memory. Lightning and burned flesh. But this was hallowed ground. The Stelante's _most_ hallowed ground. Surely they wouldn't—

She touched a finger to the surface, bracing herself. But no explosion followed. And in the exhilaration of relief, she plucked the gem from its altar and felt the power of the Dark Side pulse within it. It felt like clutching a burning coal and plunging her arm into cold mud. She wheezed in surprise and mild terror as the cold crept up her arm and a strange, dulling lethargy suffused her limbs.

"Master?"

She couldn't catch her breath and turned unsteadily, staring around the contents of the room.

What was it Armant had said?

The sharp edges of the gem cut against her palm.

The pots. Now only open, empty graves. But during the ceremony, they'd be full of plant life. She pictured flowers and palms and conifers from Ossus. A small florist's shop verdant and fragrant on every side. And the moss, thick and plush on the floor. A bed for the dying.

She could imagine the scene. A Ho'Din holding the gem as they lay, surrounded by a miniature forest. How many had died holding it? The Endless Gem stung with heat. How many returned? Slowly, Aylee cracked open her fingers enough to see it, as though the smooth surface held answers.

Did they spring back to life?

Something else?

Aylee swallowed and shook her head, closing her fist again. She reached for the Force to battle the sudden fatigue and felt it slip from her control. Aylee stumbled in her surprised and rocked on her heels.

"Master!"

Tir-Zen grabbed her elbow and leant. He looked grim as his gaze darted between her face and hand. "I don't like this," he said. "The Force feels—"

"Strange. I know."

Strange didn't begin to describe it.

Warped was a start. Aylee stared at her fingers and tried to feel through what the gem was doing. It should have been emanating. Concentrations of any form of Force emanate. They have a focus. The focus warps the Force in physical proximity. Khyber crystals warp the Force toward the light. Miman and Neritan emanated, strengthening Light Side powers within their area of effect. Easing their use. Part of what made Ossus a great center was that using the Force was quite literally easier there.

But this didn't emanate the Dark Side. The Dark promised power and turned the Force choppy. Yet she could feel the river of Force sliding over her skin as though she did not stand in it at all. As though it had forgotten her and did not break around her form.

Aylee scowled, unsure what any of it meant, and uneasy at the loss of control over her powers.

She lifted her chin toward the passageway out. "We have it. Let's get out of here."

Tee released his grip and hovered for a second longer, before turning to lead the way.

Aylee moved even more carefully than before. Without the Force to balance herself, the low gravity meant she could easily tumble herself over. Her full attention should have been on the simple act of walking. And yet, she could not tear her focus from the gem in her hand. From the way it burned without injury. From the way it felt like . . . downward. She absently used her free hand to trace the wall around the bend, following the contours.

Daylight.

The bridge.

She felt the heat of sunlight and brief cool of a shadow. In the periphery, Tee's cloak swishing steadily across the bridge. And then—

Tir-Zen's lightsaber ignited.

Aylee's gaze snapped up at the sound in time to see Mizzul step out from the first chamber into the light, flanked by several Howling Tempest. They hovered above the ground, their jetpack growling and blasters aimed.

"Berzirk . . ." Mizzul purred. "Turns out you're a liar _and_ a cheat. Usually my favorite."

Tee pulled his saber into a defensive position and took a half-step back.

"I let you into my crew. You . . . _gutted_ . . . Juko. You cost me money."

"How—"

A flutter and snap of something leather from behind, and Aylee whirled to see a thin, bone-white figure rising from a crouch. Two red lightsabers split the air, and Aylee's grip on the gem tightened as her pulse quickened. She called her own saber to her hand on reflex, scowling that she almost missed as the burst of Force drained unexpectedly away.

"Jedi," the figure said, her voice low and smoky. "So _predictable_."


	29. Star Bloom Festival

Someone gave Anakin access to the PA system. Obi-Wan hadn't known the Temple _had_ a PA system until his padawan's voice careered down the halls.

"Service Corps, Laundry Department, report to the North Hangar. You leave in 20 minutes. Don't forget your scarves!"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and muttered a brief prayer to the guiding wisdom of the Force.

Anakin's next announcement summoned Master Shaak-Ti to the East Speeder Bay. The High Council had each taken on advisory roles, overseeing segments of the Temple's pageant. Shaak-Ti had paired with the head botanist to produce the star bloom floats that would carry many Jedi and Service Corps members through the streets. Floats that now had to be transported from the Temple's hangars down to the promenade.

Logistics on that scale required more than a 12-year-old boy's imagination to pull off. To their credit, senior staff and council members took Anakin's work on the project seriously and had offered guiding hands and expertise. More, perhaps, than they might have had Obi-Wan been the one asking.

The PA system clicked on again, and Obi-Wan paused at the door to his apartment as Jocasta's voice floated down from an unseen source.

"Procession will commence in 5 hours, 15 minutes."

Parades, it turned out, were mostly made of waiting. The Star Bloom Festival Organizational Committee - Senate District had assigned every attending group a form up location on a side street off the Avenue of the Core Founders. As marchers poured in, they would pass through the Senate Plaza and up the Avenue, finally ending at the border to Sah'c Town, where the next district's parade would begin.

It was one celebration and many. No single parade could span the circumference of the planet. But a hundred thousand parades and a billion people walking through the progression of a day? That the galaxy could do.

Obi-Wan's very tiny part in all that pageantry lay in Senate Plaza.

He plucked his comlink from his belt and tapped on the door panel to leave.

"Anakin," he said, sliding into a stream of other Jedi.

"Yes. Yes, no . . . the other—" The boy's voice was distant and distracted.

"Anakin?"

Louder this time. "Yes, Master."

"I'm heading down to the Plaza now."

"Okay. Watch for Master Fisto!"

"Yes, I know the plan. I think the droid will give it away."

The boy's voice audibly smiled. "I hope so." Then someone else shouted Anakin's name on his side of the com. "Oh. Uh. Sorry, Master—"

"Go on. I'll see you down there."

Pride warmed in Obi-Wan's chest as he put his comlink away and focused on navigating to the speeder bay. More Jedi than he knew _lived_ at the Temple whisked by each other in the stuffed halls. He held his breath on the elevator just to make more room, and sighed audibly when a packed open-top transport slid out of the bay and onto the skylane. The wind whipping through his hair felt a little bit like spaciousness.

The transport let them off at the Temple's first staging area, a clear two miles from the Senate Plaza. The better to let the crowds see their reclusive Force-wielders in action, went the thinking. And the crowds had started gathering a week before. From promenade level up to the lower floors of the spacescrapers, they claimed windows and established bleachers, sat on floating platforms and parked speeders. Temporary shelters were given permits by the constabulary during festival season, only because the jails couldn't house the number of violators they'd have otherwise.

But today—the big day—the shelters had come down. The long wait was over.

Obi-Wan wound his way through the crowd by skirting the edge of the avenue. A pass programmed into his comlink let him slip over the barrier without setting off the alarm so he could wend as needed without making a scene. He could have taken the avenue the whole way—and had the eyes of half the galaxy following him as he did nothing more significant than walking.

Even so, hushed whispers followed him everywhere.

Most citizens of the Republic never saw a Jedi in person—not even those living on Coruscant. For those who had come in just for the Star Bloom Festival, he might be a myth come to life. He felt the weight of attention drawn by the swish of his cloak. And a not entirely false smile crept onto his face as he offered nods and beg-your-pardons and polite waves.

There were . . . so _many_ people.

As he crossed into the plaza, his shoulders relaxed, and the tightness around his chest released. He took a breath that reached the bottom of his lungs. Senate Plaza had been remodeled to include a dirt arena for the festival. The parade would maintain course along a paved levitating platform over the arena floor and pass between the Senators' stadium seating. At the determined mark, the platform would lift, and Obi-Wan's mock fight would take place in full view of the Senate. Towers filled with docked holocams stood sentry at the corners of the arena, and giant screens hung dull and black over the plaza, waiting to broadcast the events to the cheap seats.

Obi-Wan paused to take in the sight. The stands were nearly full already, and the ground seemed to rumble from the weight of so many voices talking at once. News crews from a hundred worlds buzzed around the edges of the arena, setting up cameras. Several Jedi in dark green and blue cloaks bustled in and out of a tunnel entrance that led under mezzanine box seats and back toward the Senate building. He started toward them, hoping the Temple had established its own staging area out of sight of the cameras and crowds.

A quarter of the way there, movement pinged in his periphery, and his attention shifted from the tunnel to the news crews. Halfway there, a Cathar stopped trying to hide himself among the crowd and openly kept pace. Obi-Wan tested him by slowing just a little and noting the response.

When he turned for the tunnel, the man slipped into his path.

"Master Kenobi," he purred.

Obi-Wan kept his expression blandly curious. "May I help you?" But he flexed his fingers at his sides—a gesture the Cathar noted with a dip in his gaze. It said _I am unarmed_ but also _I am not unready_.

The cat-man placed a hand to the armor plate on his chest and bowed. He had, perhaps, rethought his tactics. As he righted, he smoothly extracted a small envelope from a leather pouch on his belt. Obi-Wan watched him squeeze the sides of the envelope to pop it open and slide a small object onto his palm. The Cathar looked up at him and offered his hand.

"Shemba the Hutt sends her regards," he intoned.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows lifted, and he took a step closer to peer at the gift. It was a sculpted star bloom. He took it from the Cathar's palm and turned it over in the sunlight. A flattened likeness of the white and purple flower rendered in glass and metal. It was a pin. Though he doubted it was _only_ a pin. A tracker or bug seemed more likely, though he could hardly inspect it properly in the arena.

The Cathar slave stood watching. Expectant. Obi-Wan offered him a small smile.

"It's lovely."

He looked up toward the stands.

"Further to the right," the Cathar said.

And indeed, as Obi-Wan's gaze slipped down the stands, he spotted a large box section with the unmistakable bulk of a Hutt. Something flashed on Shemba's chest as she moved and lifted a hand his way, and he recalled the necklace and gemstone. He waved back.

If it _was_ a bug, then she was already listening. And he was already several steps into the dance.

"Tell her it's a lovely gift," Obi-Wan said as he fastened the star bloom to his tunic. "And that I hope she enjoys the parade."

The Cathar bowed his head in acknowledgment and strode away toward one of the lifts that would return him to Shemba's side.

Obi-Wan frowned down at the little adornment. He'd have Anakin check it later. As it was, Shemba would get few state secrets for her efforts. Not this day anyway. There was too much to do, and none of it revolved around Senate politics.

The stands swelled to bursting as the kickoff time drew closer. Obi-Wan paced just inside the staging area tunnel _not_ wringing his hands and _not_ nervous about the day's performance. Equally not dying to know where Anakin was and how things were going.

He stopped himself in front of the battle droid and stared at its unmoving bulk. Behind him, the Jedi and Service Corps members arranged themselves into their color-coded segments. He let his eyes close and turned his attention toward the bond. Aylee's presence shone like silver flashes on a rippling pond. Tension drained from his shoulders, and he smiled—then concentrated on sending the _feeling_ of the smile.

A chime snapped Obi-Wan's attention back, and he snatched his comlink from his belt.

"Yes?"

"Master!"

"Anakin! Where are you?" He spun as though expecting to see his apprentice come bounding in. He could hear the same din of the crowd from Anakin's side of the com.

"The control tower above you."

Obi-Wan peered up at the ceiling of the staging tunnel.

"The parade's about to start."

"Everything went well?"

"It's . . ." The boy trailed off.

"Anakin."

"It'll be fine. The Star Bloom float will come out before the cooks and the free candy."

"And Master Fisto's troupe?"

"Lined up, just like we planned." Anakin laughed nervously. "Don't worry, Master. Fisto's red cloaks will clear the field. And then it's all you."

Obi-Wan blinked up at the ceiling.

 _And then it's all you._

He swallowed, and his voice went somber. "You've done an amazing job, Anakin. I want you to know that."

"No!" Anakin crooned into the comlink. "You can't say that now! You'll jinx it! Take it back!"

"I—" Obi-Wan scowled, speechless for a second. "You've . . . almost done a good job, but the day isn't over?" he offered.

Anakin let out a dramatic sigh. "You'll never make it in holonovels, Master."

"I'll console myself later."

"Oh, oh! We're starting!" Anakin shouted, then hung up.

Obi-Wan turned toward the mouth of the tunnel and waited for the parade to begin.

He'd learned the choreography to music and spent more hours than he'd care to admit copying Anakin's hologram until he knew the steps by heart. Then more practice on his own, using only the track he'd found with the proper beat. And finally against the droid itself, pulling the strikes that would sever limbs and cause other permanent damage.

In the tunnel underneath the stands, Obi-Wan pressed a small electronic dot into each ear and tapped on his wristband. The music from the parade doubled in volume. He watched Jedi in red cloaks perform flips and backflips as they passed the tunnel, dueling with one another. They swung and struck and landed in unison as their mock battle moved down the parade route. Their music faded as it followed them.

Obi-Wan's gaze dropped to the line of shadow separating him from the sunlit arena. He drew a breath and felt the expanse of it down to his feet. He exhaled worry. Exhaled nerves. For a moment he opened his senses to the Force and let himself notice the moving flow of it all around him. All those lives. All that energy. All that light. So much of the galaxy gathered here in joy.

He paid attention to his breathing and listened for the song.

The last note from the red cloaks ended, and a metallic twang rang through the air as the platform across the arena floor energized its levitation engines and lifted skyward. Obi-Wan turned the volume in his earbuds up. The audience in the stands and across the galaxy would hear music during the performance, but not what _he_ heard. It was supposed to look like a fight, not a dance. And if they could anticipate strikes by the beat of the drum, a dance is all it would appear.

Somewhere up in the control room, Anakin hit play, and Obi-Wan's wrist tuner started playing the special track. On the third bassy thump, Obi-Wan stepped out into the light. The crowd might have clapped. The announcer might have said his name. He focused on the feeling of his feet making contact with the ground.

 _Fourteen . . ._

 _Fifteen . . ._

 _Sixteen . . ._

Turn.

He spun and gazed up at the stands, where Senators sat both watchful and waving. His cloak and sleeves fluttered, and if Anakin could control the weather it could not have been more dramatically apt. _Could he—?_ No. Focus on the count.

 _Nineteen . . ._

 _Twenty . . ._

A bow to the stands, and then a turn, pacing away.

A trail of fine dust blew up in his wake, from the earth and sand deposited in the plaza just for this. Just for him.

The music in his ears thundered with drums. A quickening beat, like a quickening heart. And then horns. Blast. Horns. Blast.

He froze, turned, and stared back at the maw of the tunnel below the stands. His shoulders itched and hands gripped. The music swelled with a rising exaltation, and Anakin's massive battle droid shot out into view.

In its compact form, it looked like an armored troop vehicle, churning up dirt with its treads as it carved a circle around Obi-Wan's position like a hunting beast. He turned as it went, keeping his gaze settled on the glowing lens that served as its eye. The droid did the same. Or seemed to. Every move had been programmed, every motion timed. It would perform its attacks whether Obi-Wan stood before it or not, and so consciousness had been optional.

The droid stopped on queue, having completed its menacing. And they both stood so the audience in the stands could get a side-on view. Grey dust passed in a cloud between them, while Obi-Wan breathed. Counted. Felt the need to move to the music in his limbs.

Blasters sprung free from the droid's two turrets, one mounted above each tread.

Obi-Wan slipped his cloak from his shoulders and tossed it aside.

He drew his lightsaber.

Paused.

Ignited it.

Paused.

And brought himself into a ready, defensive stance, saber high.

It was less of a fight and more of a kata.

The battle droid opened fire with both turret blasters at once, timed to the rhythm. And he responded with a whirl of blade. The lightsaber whipped through the air with precision, pinging, colliding. Blaster fire scorched into the dirt as it ricocheted.

A straight hit sent one back at the droid, puncturing a hole in the reinforced plating. It hit true and struck nothing of value.

Obi-Wan ducked. Slashed. Spun.

It wasn't danger-free, but the droid wasn't trying to kill him. It rained down fire exactly as it had a dozen times, and he felt his heart beating with the thrill of motion. His body moving with ease of memory. He swung up, batting a shot away, and settled his stance. A bit of sweat gathered at his hairline, and he brushed his fingers through his hair—the gesture caught on the jumbo screen that floated above the stands.

Holocams circled the arena, capturing everything.

Obi-Wan whirled the blade in one hand as the droid's blaster fire went quiet. Then he gestured to it. A come-on wave. _Come get me_.

The music in his ears shifted, and his pulse quickened in response.

He knew what came next, and it was no less intimidating the hundredth time.

The battle droid charged.

Its metal bulk hurtled forward as dirt sprayed behind it. And Obi-Wan, small by comparison, danced a pace aside and let it thunder by. Air clotted with grime filled his lungs. _That_ was new. And he coughed as he thrust his saber into the thick plating as it passed.

Droids did not feel pain. But the metal treads screamed as they came loose. Joints and axels buckling.

Obi-Wan completed a spin, holding his sleeve across his face as his combatant clattered to a halt. Pieces of it lay in a bloodless trail, and the droid seemed to be reeling. Taking a breath. Obi-Wan wiped at his mouth, blinking dust from his eyes, and then brought his blade to a two-handed grip.

On cue, the turrets on the battle droid dropped out of sight. The undamaged tread released and collided with the ground with a force Obi-Wan felt in his knees. The massive bulk of the droid surged upward. The plating rotated. Shifted. Locked and lengthened. And Obi-Wan's eyes traveled up, up as the droid transformed before the galaxy.

A troop carrier tank into a metal man. A cyclops with one red-lens eye that rotated on top of its shoulders and focused, seemingly, on its prey. A sound like a crashing ocean wave swarmed over the music in Obi-Wan's ears, and he could only guess that it was Coruscant. Watching. Awed.

The battle droid held an arm out to each side. Crouched. And ignited two lightsabers of its own, fixed to its forearms like vambrace blades.

Again that roaring sound of a crowd.

But the music flowed, drove bass into his bones. And Obi-Wan was ready.

He lifted onto the balls of his feet and bounced to the rhythm.

 _One, and_

 _Two, and_

 _Three, and_

 _Go!_

He ran.

 _Five, and_

 _Six, and_

Darted left. A blaster shot.

Right. A hurled tread.

 _Eight, and_

Force sang through his body as he closed the distance in a blur.

The droid swung, and their blades squawked against each other with a grinding flash of contact. The impact might have knocked him down if not for the power flowing through him. He shoved up, throwing off the hit, ducked from a quick counter, and turned to the second arm headed his way.

The strikes followed a pattern that only a Jedi trained in the dueling katas would recognize. It looked relentless. It _was_. But also predictable.

Obi-Wan swung. Connected. Ducked. Danced. He lost ground to the towering droid, driven back by the advantage of its size. By its precision. To an observer it would look like the tiny human was hopelessly outmatched. And the tension in the music broadcasting to the crowd would tell them so.

He stepped back and back.

And faltered when his heel struck a bit of tread that had fallen in the way.

Panic surged sharp and cold through him as he missed a connection and felt the heat of a blade pass dangerously close. He stumbled back and _listened_ for the steps. Let the Force guide his instincts into place despite the sudden racing of his heart.

The droid kept coming.

Obi-Wan recovered his rhythm—parried a strike, a swipe.

And then he gathered the Force to his hand with a thought. The power already flowing through him diverted itself to thicken in response to his will. He struck the droid's blade aside and hurled a Force push at its chest with a roar.

There was no faking this part.

No way for the droid to assist in being hurtled back without ruining the mirage. Its feet needed to scrape the ground, lift real dust.

Obi-Wan recalled the way the Force felt when Aylee fed him power. The way her sense of it bled over. Cold rushing water. And he felt it now as power flowed down his arm. Held the droid mid-step.

It could have been a second.

Less.

He needed _breathing_ room.

And with a step forward of his own, he punched his left hand toward his opponent.

A second Force push slammed into the battle droid, lifted it, and sent it a good thirty meters back. It seemed to move in slow motion. Its arms flailed, lightsabers flashing, but it corrected for its angle and landed on its feet still sliding, friction and momentum kicking up a plume.

Just as planned.

Obi-Wan let out an unsteady breath, light-headed from the effort, and took a moment to point the tip of his sword in the droid's direction. His heart thundered as the Force resumed its normal shape, feeding his limbs and senses. The crowd's cheers droned over the sound of the music in his ears, distant but audible, and his mouth turned up in a feral smile.

A beat.

Another.

And then he bounded into a run. Not a Force blur—because they wanted the audience to see him. See him turn the tables. Witness him chasing down a dangerous foe. The droid changed its stance and scraped its sabers against one another while it tracked the incoming assault.

Obi-Wan's breathing quickened.

He counted the steps, pounding across the arena.

 _Two . . ._

 _One._

A little hop, and he sent himself into a slide. The Force whisked him farther, faster, so he slipped between the droid's legs. And before it could turn—

He righted himself, spun—

And nearly fell.

The world was—sideways.

Green. And sky. In the wrong orientation.

He let out a cry of alarm, blinking.

Something red flashed close, and he brought his lightsaber up to meet it.

Obi-Wan swung at empty air behind the battle droid's legs while it turned. He blinked and swiped at his eyes with his free hand while he stumbled back.

The battle droid rotated its torso and lunged for him. It came up short, also swiping at empty space. Like it didn't know where he was.

It didn't. He'd taken a step too many out of range.

Fear congealed in Obi-Wan's stomach, and he tried to focus on the arena. The guiding music struck him as _noise,_ too much noise. He'd lost the beat and the place, and only vaguely remembered that he was supposed to dive back through under the droid's legs.

It made a quick jab in his direction, and he batted the hit away. Then dove into a somersault.

He came out of the roll too close, and the droid's swinging leg caught him in the shoulder. It knocked him sideways as his shoulder exploded with pain. He stumbled a few steps, trying to stay upright and whirled. Red pain. _Beat beat._ Roar and wailing in his ears.

Another flash, this time of paper-white skin and tattoos.

He shook off the vision, and, panting, lined himself up.

A red lightsaber slashed at his face, and he jolted to knock it away.

The droid's green blade flashed down at him, and only Force instinct let him duck.

Pain sliced across his thigh, and he jerked.

Another glimpse of grey stone and red blades.

He spun, parried, connected with nothing. Felt his heart in his throat.

Something was wrong. _Wrong._

The battle droid was nowhere. The _arena_ was nowhere. But he could smell the dust and hear the music.

He backed away, and his opponent swung at nothing.

One blink he could see the droid. And another, some place he didn't know.

Terror cracked his ribs.

And then, a sensation like flying. Like being pulled from the ground. Coruscant disappeared, and he was suddenly . . . nowhere. In a dream place. Around him, stacks from the Great Library pulsed. Shelves and shelves up until they melted into stars. The floor, the lounge on the Vesper. And to the left, beyond what he could see. Something _pulled._ Like hands clawing at him. Like a tide sucking him under. He couldn't see that way, like his eyes skipped over it when he tried. But the terror in his chest told him it was there.

 _Ben._

 _Aylee!_

How had he not seen her on the ground? Sprawled, holding herself up on one arm.

Obi-Wan tried to move closer, but there was no movement. Even as he thought it, he could do nothing but watch.

 _Aylee, what's—_

 _I'm sorry._

 _What?_

She looked at him, her expression a rictus of regret.

 _I'm sorry_ , she said again.

His confusion sharpened into a wild creature. And he tried to look and not look at the empty thing just out of view. Cool presence touched his chest. And then it gripped. A feeling like the breath going out of him. Like his stomach being gouged out.

Aylee . . . tore the Force out of him. Funneled it into herself, and he watched some vision of her lurch and fling her free hand.

It hurt too much to speak or shout. To think as she pulled the power from him across the stars.

 _I love you._

And then cut the connection.

Obi-Wan fell.

Fell through space and galaxies. His awareness slamming back into his body with a disorientation of light and sound and pain. He was there only an instant. Hitting before falling again. Bouncing off a cliff of agony. His nerves caught fire everywhere at once. It blotted out sound.

His knees hit the dirt. Lightsaber rolled useless from limp fingers.

And his body hollowed out in a scream.

He did not see the battle droid raising its weapon for a fatal blow.

Did not witness his apprentice leap from the control room, jumping from holocam to holocam as he raced down the stands toward the arena.

He did not see Anakin jump and hurl himself for the droid's head. Or his body swing from momentum as his lightsaber bit into the hull.

He did not notice the sheering tortured sound of metal as the boy's weight dragged the saber through the giant's core.

He did not feel the shake and thunder as the cleaved and sparking halves fell into the dust.

He did not hear the crowd explode with shocked joy at the surprise heroism—unaware of how close death had truly come.

He shook. Curled trembling over the emptiness and gasped when Anakin touched his shoulder.

"Master?"

Obi-Wan wheezed and tried to lift his face. Every breath came out as sobs, and it did not occur to him to fight it.

Anakin quickly masked his own panic and after a quick assessment, grabbed Obi-Wan's dropped saber from the dust and clipped it to his own belt. He knelt and carefully slid himself under one arm. Obi-Wan let himself be lifted, and they made their way out of the arena to glorious applause.

Obi-Wan couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet.

And by the time they had passed under the stands and back into the staging area, he started to shiver. His ribs ached from breathing, and tears rolled down his cheeks when he blinked. Silent. All so silent.

They stopped, and his dulled senses took too long to register that fact. Even longer to register that someone was saying his name.

" _Obi_ -Wan." Master Windu's voice, sounding grave. Concerned.

His head wobbled as he lifted it, and Master Windu's face did an odd, distressed thing he'd never recalled it doing before.

"Something's happened. We received an emergency transmission from Tir-Zen Gil."

Obi-Wan's heart lurched. He hadn't— He hadn't even thought— " _Tir-Zen._ Is he—"

"Hurt. On his way back. But . . . Master Desai . . ."

"I know."

A second later, Anakin drew a sharp breath. Mace had the decency to look pained. Obi-Wan's gaze fell to the ground, and he twitched and trembled in the silence.

Master Windu cleared his throat. "Obi-Wan, I—"

"Came to tell me you were right?" He said, no fire in it. Barely enough breath to be heard. He understood, vaguely, that they had crossed signals. Shared pains and visions during a fight.

That—

That he had—

That the blow to the shoulder might have—

He pressed his eyes shut.

Mace regarded him for a moment, calm, perhaps even slightly sad. "I'm sorry," he said.

Obi-Wan glanced up to stare at him, unsure of what to say. Anakin adjusted his grip, jostling them both and tightening his hold.

Master Windu glanced at the boy. "Anakin, take your master home to rest. We'll finish up here."


	30. Aftermath

Obi-Wan stood at the sink staring at a kettle of steaming water. He'd measured the leaves and put them in the pot, and then waited for the water to boil. It had. And it had stopped. But still he stood, waiting as though some signal would propel him into the next step.

Sometimes it took hours.

Or minutes.

He'd wake as though from a dream and find whatever task he'd set himself to unfinished. Then have to gather some focus and effort to start again. Or give up. He opted for that one a lot, it seemed.

It wasn't so much lost in thought as lost in being.

The door chimed, and the sound sliced straight to his nerves. His eyes fell shut, one twitching with irritation. For days now, the door _chimed_. We're dispatching someone to Fedor. We've gotten a preliminary story from Tir-Zen. The body's been burned. You're all over the newsvids. The Senators were most impressed with Anakin's performance.

Do you need breakfast, Master.

Do you want lunch, Master.

Grand Master Yoda had appeared at his door and spent too long staring intently at him before ordering him to follow. Up to a meditation room, where the old master recited the Code and led him to silence. _There is no emotion, there is peace._

 _There is peace._

And the weakness in him clung to the familiar phrases and familiar chimes and familiar sound of Master Yoda breathing. And wasn't this the way of the Jedi after all? The proper way.

He couldn't tell anymore.

Wasn't sure if it mattered.

He lifted the kettle carefully and concentrated on pouring. Every move slow and measured. Grief grew vines around his ribs. It closed a hot palm across his throat. His chest was full of broken glass, and any movement too quick or careless would slice open a new wound. He breathed, but only barely, and told himself there is no emotion, only peace.

If asked to imagine what a severed bond would feel like, he would have imagined wrong.

The Force itself felt bruised. Using it ached like a cramped muscle on the leading edge of another spasm. And the worst . . .

The worst was turning his inner sense in search of that comforting connection and finding nothing. And then, fresh with realization and sorrow turning _again_ , out of instinct. Because he could not remember. And he could not forget.

A cycle played on repeat until he cried just to break it.

He set the kettle unsteadily down, and the door chimed again.

"Yes, yes," he breathed, turning delicately.

He combed at his hair a little, in case it was a Council member, and tugged ineffectually at his tunic. As he faced the door, he gave himself a moment and a slow breath before touching the panel.

It was not a Council member.

Tir-Zen slowly lifted his gaze and met Obi-Wan's eyes. One of his cheeks was discolored, and some swelling spoke to the encounter on Fedor. His bloodshot eyes spoke volumes more. How long had he been back? A day or two? He should've found out. Should've gone to see—

"Tir-Zen," Obi-Wan said, his voice a tatter. "I'm so sorry."

Tee's eyes glazed with tears, but he fought them back.

Obi-Wan put a hand on the young man's shoulder, and then cupped the side of his neck, avoiding the bruise and not quite pulling him in for a hug. Tee swallowed and hung his head, and Obi-Wan released him.

"I tried," Tir-Zen rasped and swallowed hard. "There were too many."

"It's not your fault."

Tee looked up. "Everyone keeps _telling_ me that. _I_ pissed off Mizzul. He was after _me_." His voice shook.

Obi-Wan was in no condition to comfort anyone. And yet . . . he knew this guilt intimately well. "He was a hired gun. And he was doing a job. You didn't make anything worse."

Tir-Zen's expression twisted into a scowl, and he didn't answer.

"I promise you . . ." Obi-Wan moved until he caught Tee's gaze. "It's not your fault."

A bit of the fight went out of the young man's shoulders. "I could've stayed and fought. I could've—" He cut himself off, shaking his head, then shrugged.

The report Master Windu had delivered was scant on the details of just how Tir-Zen had survived an encounter with a Sith. Not that anyone wanted to use that word. But the Force powers. The lightsabers he'd seen through Aylee's eyes. And with Darth Maul dead . . . surely there would be another.

"What happened?" Obi-Wan asked. It was a cruel thing.

Tee's eyes closed.

"They ambushed us after we found the gem. That . . . woman. And the mercs. I— There were too many blasters. We were fighting. I-I don't remember. And then screaming. I tried not to look back. But I—" His face crumpled and words came out thick. "She threw her lightsaber. Cut his arm off. And then she crushed them. In their armor like cans. Shoved me across the bridge toward the way out."

Something sank in Obi-Wan's stomach and found a new home. The power she'd drained from him. That was the moment.

"She wanted me to run," Tee whispered, shame closing off his expression.

"She wanted you to _live_ ," he said, and put his hand back on Tee's shoulder. "More than anything. Always."

Tir-Zen nodded vaguely, without looking at him.

"And you did."

Another nod, and Tee swallowed hard. He shifted a satchel on his hip and reached inside. Obi-Wan let him go and backed up a step as Tir-Zen lifted an offering toward him balanced on both hands. It took a second to realize what he was seeing.

"Oh, Tee, no . . ."

Tir-Zen gazed at him, nodding, and held it out.

Aylee's lightsaber.

"Tir-Zen, I can't—"

"It hit the wall next to me when she shoved me out. She . . . would want you to have it. "

And there, another fresh wound. Because the boy was right.

He sucked in a shallow breath and carefully took the blade. The metal felt cool. He turned it over gently and examined the wear in the finish from her hands.

His throat closed. And his eyes stung.

A Jedi's most precious possession.

He glanced up to find Tee nodding and backing away. A strained wheeze escaped the young man before he turned on his heel and started away down the hall.

Obi-Wan stared after him, shocked. Then lunged for the doorway.

"Tir-Zen!"

He stopped.

"I will stand for you before the Council," Obi-Wan said.

Tee looked back over his shoulder, his face furrowed with confusion.

Obi-Wan swallowed and felt like he was floating. "If you wish to take the Trial," he said. "I will stand for you in her stead."

Tir-Zen's eyes widened as he took in the gravity of that offer. He nodded a few times and seemed to search for something to say before turning away. He left without another word, and Obi-Wan retreated back into his apartment, a little stunned himself. The words had formed themselves, and he'd spoken them without thinking.

And yet, without regret.

The door shucked closed behind him, and his attention fell to the lightsaber in his hands. The unfamiliar smoothness of it. The unaccustomed weight. He imagined the golden blade and felt a surge of . . . something at the memory of it piercing the darkness and cold—so unexpected and so sorely needed.

His offer might have been rash, but . . . he meant it.

Briefly, Obi-Wan held the lightsaber in one hand as though he might turn it on, his hand obscuring the wear marks. But he shied away from the idea and went back to studying the shape. Wandering feet brought him to his bedside, and he eyed the night stand. For a moment he thought, _Put it away?_ But it was all he had left of her. All any of them had. And he couldn't bear the thought of relegating it to a drawer. Hidden. Discarded. Forgotten in dust.

Obi-Wan placed Aylee's lightsaber on the night stand, where it would be within easy reach. He straightened, contemplated it, and then nudged it into alignment with the edge. The feeling started as curl in the pit of his stomach. A quiver of fear and loneliness that took out his knees dropped him onto the bed. He folded under the weight of it. And as hot tears spilled over, reached out to lay his fingers along the cool metal.

The nightmares changed.

Images of the Naboo generator complex came less often than they once did. But in their place, something arguably worse.

The arena and the battle droid, spewing hails of blaster fire.

A bald woman, chalk-white and snarling.

The droid trying to cut him in half with a red saber.

Terror. The sure knowledge that Tir-Zen was nearby and dying.

The sound of more blaster fire and the searing pain of being hit in the leg. Panic and the sense of being trapped. Running from the Sith woman into darkness. Into the stacks of the Library.

 _"Jedi . . ."_ He heard her voice and knew it. Knew that he knew it, though it had no name.

He ran and turned a corner.

Collided with two—

Obi-Wan jolted awake, panting and chilled with sweat. Always the same. It always ended the same—a lightsaber to the chest and gut. The burn of impact hurtling him out of sleep. His gaze darted around the silver-dark room, and he felt the impression of something cold cutting into his left palm, as though gripped too hard. He sat up and held his palm under a shaft of light, angling it to shift the shadows. Nothing. He touched it, tracing the shape of the phantom pain, and frowned at finding no source.

The cobweb terror of dreams still clung, and he lowered his face to his hands, controlling his breathing.

Steady in . . .

Hold.

Steady out . . .

Warmth touched his shoulders, and he lowered his hands, frozen with alarm. The sensation moved, hot and tingling down his arms, and he jerked forward to throw it off. But it moved slowly over his elbows, down his wrists. He stared as his own skin.

It wasn't—

It felt like—

But that was impossible.

A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard as the touch slid between splayed fingers.

Was this madness? Was he going mad?

A patch of heat blossomed on the nape of his neck.

Obi-Wan ducked from it and shuddered out a confused cry of distress. Because it felt like—it _felt_ like . . .

He let his eyes fall shut. Stopped staring at his own bare arms and instead let himself pretend. That Aylee's fingers laced with his. That the prickling heat against his neck was her lips. It was so _easy_ to pretend. To see her in his mind's eye.

If he just forgot for a little while . . . maybe that would be all right.

And then the warm sensation slowly washed away.

The fear and uncanny dream dust faded.

And he felt a presence heavy in the Force. Like cool water. Like a running river and a sigh of relaxation.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed lest he break the spell and settled back into his pillow, letting himself dissolve into it—a drowsy, drunk relief. His breathing grew even and slow. His body weightless.

But just before he drifted off again, across the room, something beeped.

Obi-Wan frowned, the spell shattered, and pushed up onto his elbows, both annoyed and curious. He saw the blinking light on the table in front of the couch, and a second later the game board glowed to life, set with Chal'tek. Obi-Wan's heart thumped hard, and his mouth went dry. He stared at the holographic pieces feeling his pulse in his fingertips. His gaze flicked around the room and chest tightened, barely breathing.

Madness, after all?

His brow furrowed.

"Aylee?" he said, voice so small and thin.

Gooseflesh rushed down his arms and legs as a piece on the game board slid into its opening gambit. Obi-Wan drew a deeper, unsteady breath and sat up. He closed his eyes and carefully focused on his sense of the Force, a still raw ache like an exposed nerve making him tentative. A pressure touched his breastbone. _That_ sensation, Living Force brushing together. _Her_ , unmistakable and impossible.

He swallowed and fought back any emotion. In case he was wrong. In case he was a fool.

He didn't dare move in case he wasn't.

But _how_ —

If he wasn't suffering a grief-stricken delusion, then—

They'd been after The Endless Gem.

"A resurrection stone," he muttered to the empty room.

That was the story anyway. A magic item crafted to resurrect a long-dead Sith Lord. But the recovery team had burned her body. There was nothing to resurrect.

The pressure against his breastbone throbbed through the Force. And he tried to think like she would have. Stories. Everything they thought they knew about the gem came from stories. Told. Written. Rewritten through languages and time.

 _What if . . ._

"A mistranslation," he said, not knowing where the idea came from but the spot on his chest fluttered with cool pins. "A misunderstanding . . ." He frowned thinking through the legend and reconfiguring the points into a new shape.

"Not resurrection," he said, snapping his gaze to the game board. "Eternal life." A quest he'd watched Qui-Gon chase and study for years. It all fell into a perfect, terrible shape. He wanted to laugh. Cry. Sputter at the absurdity that she stumbled into his _master's_ quest. "That's what it does, isn't it. The gem isn't for the long dead, it's for the newly deceased. An eternal life in the Living Force and you were—" He cut himself off, throat aching as he stared at the moved game piece. Heat gathered at his eyes. "You were holding it, when—" he said, voice thick as he flexed the hand where he'd felt the cut of sharp edges.

The last image he'd seen of her flashed through his mind. In the dreamspace across the bond, his gaze had kept sliding over a darkness, a vortex he could feel but couldn't make out. It harried him through nightmares, that sucking emptiness. And now it made a kind of sense. A vortex drawing in Living Force, transmuting it somehow.

The image of a chamber assaulted his vision and made him flinch. A cave. An altar. Overgrown plants and empty pottery.

Obi-Wan squeezed at his temples, breathing hard. But he understood it to be the place the Ho'Din had kept the gem. And more, where they brought their dying. The gem would absorb their Living Force as it left them. And then . . . what? Preserve it?

"I don't understand," he said quietly, and glanced at the game board.

Endless seconds stretched, and the pressure against his chest faded. Obi-Wan pressed his hand over it as panic gripped his lungs.

"No. Aylee, please! I'm sorry, I'll try!" His voice grew loud enough to wake Anakin if he wasn't lucky. And his gaze flicked around the room for any signs of movement or change.

She couldn't— _she wouldn't_.

He gasped as another vision flooded into his mind's eye. This time his own memory. Sitting on the grass in the park beneath a tree. Feeling the tiny flow of Force coming from the life around him. And that moment when he felt the tree like a gentle geyser.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes slowly and frowned in thought. The plants of the park. The plants in the chamber.

"They were trying to . . . make themselves live on in the trees," he said haltingly.

The spot beneath his palm warmed with pleasant friction, and the binding tension around his lungs eased.

"But not you," he said, tears gathering at his eyes again. Because what or where was she?

It struck him suddenly that he should tell Tir-Zen. But tell him what? That Aylee was a ghost? Not quite dead but not really here, either?

But if he didn't tell him . . . how could he live with such a secret?

Sensation pulsed against him, brushing his face. Bittersweet tears disappeared into the scruff of his beard. He should be happy. But . . . what if it was terrible? An undeath of agony?

And a feeling like hands touching his face, smoothing away the worry. He got an image of laying, entwined with . . . himself . . . on the ship. Naked. Contentment.

He blinked at the disorientation of a memory from both sides but understood. Rest. Contentment.

He relaxed. And then across the room Chal'tek board beeped impatiently.

Obi-Wan stared at it, blinking his vision clear, and then smiled a small tentative smile.

"Not tonight," he said, voice a hush and heart heavy. He settled himself back under the covers as though his bones had turned brittle. "Come to bed. We can play Chal'tek in the morning."


	31. Council Chambers

He squeezed on the old-fashioned wire cutters with steady pressure, concentrating. He could have used a modern laser cutter, of course, but Obi-Wan felt there was something fitting in having to do this with his own manual effort. After a second, the ring _snicked,_ and he set the cutters aside before carefully slipping the second hoop out of Tir-Zen's ear. Obi-Wan set the ring and its blue engineering bead on a tray next to a matching one in green and stepped back. Fiery wings fluttered through his chest. Bright light filtered into the circular, white chamber.

"Arise, Jedi Knight," he intoned.

Tir-Zen brought himself to standing, breathing like he'd run a race, and for a moment they stood looking at one another, frozen by the weight of too many things to say. Around them, Council members sat in hallowed silence, observing an ancient rite. Tee blinked those strange, orange-fire eyes, and his poise cracked first. He flung himself in Obi-Wan's direction, folding him into a hug.

"Oh!"

Surprised, Obi-Wan caught him without stumbling back, aware for possibly the first time that Tee had a few centimeters on him, even without the horns.

"Thank you," Tir-Zen rasped, too low for the surrounding Council members to hear.

Obi-Wan's throat went tight as he held the embrace. Tried to find words to encompass the feeling flooding through him. "She would be very proud," he whispered back.

Tee's grip tightened in response, and then just as suddenly as he'd gone in for the hug, he let go and stepped back, then bowed his head.

"Thank you, master," he said, very formally.

Obi-Wan grinned at him. "You're welcome. But I think it's just Obi-Wan, now."

"Yes, m—" Tee caught himself and pressed his lips. "Yes . . ."

With a bow of his own, Obi-Wan retreated from the center of the Council chamber and the center of attention. He stood, glowing, by the door and watched as each member of the High Council took their turn offering Tee their congratulations and handshakes and well wishes for his future. He wondered, perhaps unkindly, if they would have said the same were his true master here to have seen him through the Trials. He wondered if they would come to see Tee as the same kind of threat that had made Aylee an exile.

The thoughts left him sober and ruminating until Tir-Zen extracted himself from the glad-handing and gathered him to make an exit. Obi-Wan looked up at the young man's approach and fell into pace beside him as they left the chamber, all without exchanging a word. Outside, sets of padawans and masters waited for their turn in the Council chamber and the making of a new knight. All bowed their heads in honor and acknowledgment of a new Jedi among their ranks.

All except, of course, Anakin.

Anakin bounded up from a bench along the wall, breathless and eyes wide.

"Is that it?"

"That's it," Obi-Wan told him.

"You're a knight?"

Tir-Zen grinned. "Seems so."

"That's _galactic!_ " Anakin trotted backwards in front of them. "What was it like? How do you feel?"

"It—uh . . ." Tee frowned a little, giving it real thought. "It wasn't like I thought it would be." He rubbed at the spot on his ear where his padawan's earrings used to be.

Anakin's expression fell. "You're not happy?"

"I didn't say that. But it's—" He flexed his hands.

"Bittersweet," Obi-Wan supplied, and Tee nodded with a glance his way.

Anakin chewed on his lip.

"Well . . . do you wanna celebrate? We have— I mean— We _could_ have—" He stopped himself and gave Obi-Wan a look like he's just spilled motor oil on the floor. Again.

Tee lifted an eyebrow and slowed to a halt, casting a firmer look in Obi-Wan's direction.

For just a moment, Obi-Wan gazed back at him with placid, feigned innocence, and then cracked a small smile.

"We . . . may have arranged a little something at Dex's," he said.

"What's Dex's?"

"The best!" Anakin crooned, tossing up his arms. "They have triple layer cakes and protato wedges and firaxan shark fillets and—"

"That sounds—"

"Greasy," Obi-Wan cut in. "But oddly delicious. Plus the outdoor patio can accommodate guests of . . . a larger stature."

Tee's eyes widened. "You didn't."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a look and started again down the hallway, mapping a route to the speeder bay.

"Master—" Tee began, and Obi-Wan cut him off with a lifted finger. Tee made a face. "Obi-Wan."

"Hmm?" He moved briskly, forcing Tir-Zen to keep up.

"Who—who else did you invite?"

"Oh." He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyone we could think of."

"But I don't _know_ anyone."

"But you do." Obi-Wan slowed his gait, and caught Tee's gaze. "And an occasion like this is about more than just you." He stopped and grew serious, putting his hands gently on Tee's shoulders. "You are her legacy. The latest in a rare lineage that stretches back eons. You are the keeper of it now. And someday, if you choose, you'll take an apprentice of your own."

Tir-Zen swallowed. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

"No." Obi-Wan smiled. "But someday perhaps. And until then, that knowledge lives on. And we celebrate that as well."

Anakin cleared his throat, and they both turned to look at him.

"The _cake_ is _waiting_." He gestured for them to get a move on.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and let his hands drop, shooing Anakin into motion.

After a minute or so of silent walking, Tir-Zen turned to him, not breaking stride.

"Honestly, though, is Ujjwala—"

"That's the plan."

And then Tee brushed at his tunic and fussed at straightening his belt, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but laugh.


	32. A Small Hut on Tatooine

A gust of heat and sand washed into the hut as Obi-Wan opened the door and trundled inside, slamming it shut behind him with a little less strength than he might have had once. He paused in what passed for a foyer, jostling dirt and dust off his clothes onto a vacuum panel set in the floor. Without such a device, any building on Tatooine would quickly become a sand pit, and even so every surface remained gritty no matter what _conventional_ methods he tried. He set his walking stick against the wall near the door and carefully straightened the arm where an elbow had started to ache.

"Home again the same day," he said, perhaps to himself.

It was always hard to guess.

"They shut the pod races down, now," he said, stripping off a layer of weathered, dun fabric. "No one can afford those kinds of gambles. No one who isn't a Hutt, anyway."

Slowly, he unwound a scarf, revealing chapped, tanned skin and a beard going gray, and hooked the fabric over the back of a chair in one of the hut's three rooms. A bedroom, a place to read, and a place to eat. What more could one need? A kettle jostled on the stove, and he nodded at it, frowning, waving a hand in the air.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming." He scowled and stepped down into the living room and across to the kitchen, grabbing the kettle before it moved again so he could fill it with some of Owen's preciously farmed water. He let out a sigh and rolled his shoulders. "Wasn't much to trade for today." He shrugged. "Maybe next week."

He still might have been talking to himself. She disappeared sometimes. Once, for three whole years in the middle of a conversation. Often from one second to the next. Like she'd never quite gotten the knack of linear time.

He put heat on under the kettle, which was almost a ridiculous thing to do in the desert, and lifted his head to look around. Patient, but . . . hoping.

It felt like the cool turn of autumn when her presence washed over his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into it. Cool fingers stroking his cheeks.

The knot of doubt eased away, and he smiled. Not a crazy old man, after all. Not yet.

"Darling," he said, and touched the skin where he felt the brush of her hands.

The Chal'tek board on the small dining table flicked on, and he ambled over to it, lowering into the seat with a groan. He studied the pieces and tried to recall the stratagem he'd had in mind for this one. He glanced across the board at the empty chair.

"So . . . my turn, I take it?"

Crazy old Ben, the hermit who talked to chairs. The locals weren't wrong, precisely. And their wariness was a tactical advantage. People left you alone if they caught you having loud conversations with the furniture. That he was incongruously cogent when he went into town for supplies made them more wary, not less. And that, too, was just fine.

He'd just managed to recall his Chal'tek strategy when the water started boiling. And by the time the reeshee root was cool enough for drinking, one of the twin suns had set. Tatooine had a few more hours of dusk left, and Obi-Wan had just decided on his next move. He touched a game piece and moved to touch the panel on the game board where it should go when a _knock-knock_ shook sand from the lintel over the door.

Obi-Wan froze. Frowned. And peered out the window for a gaggle of angry townsfolk.

No gaggle.

"What in the world . . ." he muttered, glancing at the empty chair.

Another set of strong knocks rattled the grit on the tabletop, and he got up, curious and a little annoyed.

"All right, all right. Don't break it down."

He didn't _get_ visitors. And as he he strode for the door, he reached for the Force, gathering power into one hand, just in case. He tapped the lock panel and then stepped back as he swung the door open.

A dark shadow in the shape of a man greeted him. Tall and hooded and wrapped in many loose layers to keep off the deadly heat. Obi-Wan's expression and balled fist must have spoken volumes.

"Peace, master," the figure said, and reached up to draw back its hood, revealing twin rows of long, sharp horns.

Obi-Wan's stomach flipped.

A man stood in his doorway, broad shouldered and square-jawed—the uncertainty of youth filed off and features refined. Tan skin lined with black tattoos. And those _eyes_.

"Tir-Zen," Obi-Wan breathed in astonishment.

They hadn't—

Since the war, since they all went into hiding.

A coded message or two to confirm who was left. He'd hoped and listened for word or rumors. But communication was _risky_ under the Empire. Emergencies only.

He dropped his balled fist, and alarm slammed through him as the realization hit home that Tir-Zen was _here_. He peered over Tee's shoulder, heart pounding hard.

"I wasn't followed," Tee said, his voice the same scratchy rasp that Obi-Wan remembered. "And I'm not on the run."

Obi-Wan settled and looked at his visitor properly. "You're . . . not?"

They were _all_ on the run, in one sense or another.

Tir-Zen smirked. "No, master."

And Obi-Wan scowled at him.

"Obi-Wan," Tee amended with warm amusement.

"It's actually Ben, now, but I'll let it slide." He shook his head a little in wonderment, still reeling from the shock, and pulled Tir-Zen into a hug. "It's good to see you," Obi-Wan said as he released him—how long had it been since he'd hugged someone? "Your horns got long."

Tee grinned, and it looked like just like Obi-Wan remembered. "I'm sorry for coming by unannounced."

Obi-Wan lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I'm a difficult man to get ahold of these days." He gestured for Tee to follow him in and descended the few steps to the living room. "Not that I can't use the company, but . . . if you're not on the run, what could possibly bring you here?"

His insides tightened in preparation. Whatever news. However bad . . .

Tir-Zen hesitated and took only a few steps into the hut. "I . . . wanted you to meet someone," he said.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows lifted, and wariness tensed in his shoulders. Jedi didn't "meet people" nowadays. They got by. They survived. They laid low.

Tee was waiting for an answer, and Obi-Wan obliged him with a small, "All right."

Tir-Zen gestured toward the door, and then a small figure maybe half his height darted inside and attached itself to his leg. Tee flicked his fingers to swing the door shut and glanced down.

"Osh-ka," he rasped and put his hand on their back. "Say hi."

The little tornado of cloth and hood struggled to resolve into a child. A Zabrak with rust-colored skin and two inward-curving horns just starting the sprout from the crown of their head with the suggestion of a few more making a circlet around the back.

An apprentice?

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. An apprentice, was he mad? _Trying_ to get caught?

"Osh-ka, this is the old friend I told you about."

The child gazed up at him, then directly at Obi-Wan, meeting his stare.

His spine jolted. Eyes _—_ fiery orange, strange and disarming. _Her_ —his instincts told him—her _father's_ eyes. His stomach went cold and hot, and he must have been slack-jawed gawking.

Osh-ka gave Tee an uncertain look, but he nodded at her, and she released her death grip on his pant leg. A second later, she stood at the top of the steps, almost at eye level. And then she bowed very formally from the waist.

A laugh crackled through Obi-Wan's dumbfounded shock, and he bowed in reply, grinning like a fool. A daughter. _Tee's_ daughter.

The little girl stared at him.

"My papa says you dance bad."

Another startled laugh bubbled out.

"Osh-ka!" Mortified.

"No, no," Obi-Wan managed. He waved at Tee and focused on the girl, warm with amusement. "Maybe I do. Should we find out?"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and tapped on a small box on the table next his reading chair. Thunderous Corellian Hard Style blasted through the little hut. Osh-ka slammed her hands over her ears and scowled, but kept watching. And Obi-Wan—he let himself recall dancing. The way it felt to move to a beat, to not care what anyone thought or anyone saw. To feel the bass in his belly and lungs. To feel the joy in the Force like he had never felt it, saturating and intoxicating. His knees ached now, but he danced.

And then let Osh-ka see him peeking in her direction.

She made a face and shook her head, hands flat against her ears. And that was enough of that.

He stopped and flicked off the music, a little winded.

"No?" he asked, between deep breaths.

She shook her head again.

"Well"—he turned his hands up—"then I guess your papa was right."

Tir-Zen cleared his throat and stepped down into the living room, giving his daughter a look that Obi-Wan couldn't read. They both stood watching her silently until she frowned, self-conscious. They hadn't come to dance. Or drink tea.

Obi-Wan gave his old friend a sidelong glance. "Does she . . ."

"Have the gift?" Tee said, and nodded. "Yes."

"That's dangerous."

"We keep moving. Living on freighters. Everyone needs a good mechanic."

"Her mother?"

"A pilot."

"Of course."

"Busy watching the baby."

Obi-Wan smiled at him and bowed his head. "Congratulations. Twice."

Tee bobbed his head and cleared his throat, though it sounded painful. "There's . . . a . . . reason I wanted to bring her, since we were passing so close to this system," he admitted, and his gaze traveled the otherwise empty dwelling. "I thought . . . maybe . . ."

 _Ah._

It made sense now. Might be random timing, but Tee always had some of a seer's premonition in him. Obi-Wan could feel Aylee's presence gathering in the Force, the cool comfort a light touch across his skin.

"Is she . . .?" Tir-Zen asked, his voice small and hopeful.

Obi-Wan nodded and looked at Osh-ka as she silently observed the adults.

"Yes," he said.

Tee let out a pent sigh, and across the room a drawer at bottom of the table next to the couch snapped open with a metal thunk and a rattle.

Obi-Wan spun toward the sound. Saw the source. And froze.

His fingers went cold, and his pulse quickened.

 _Oh._

 _Oh, Aylee . . ._

He understood all at once, and his throat went dry.

"Was that her?"

Osh-ka hopped down a step. "Was what who?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded absently as he drew close, the only sound crunch of boots against the gritty floor. He hadn't opened that drawer since he'd arrived on Tatooine. Sixteen years, and not once. It had simply ceased to be.

He bent and lifted a small leather bundle out. He pulled the knotted tie free gently and unrolled it, letting Aylee's lightsaber roll free into his hands. Heartache scorched through his chest, and he turned slowly to show Tir-Zen.

Tee gasped and looked from the lightsaber to Obi-Wan and back. "But I gave that to you!"

"Yes . . ." Obi-Wan nodded and smoothed his fingers over the worn surface. His throat burned, and he struggled to keep his voice steady. "But it seems I've held onto it long enough." His bones felt like jelly as he paced over to little Osh-ka. She gazed back at him, more steady than he felt. "Do you know who Master Desai was?" he asked.

She nodded and twisted her fingers together. "Papa's teacher."

"Yes." The word came out strained as he tried to smile. He took a shaky breath and held the lightsaber flat across his palms. "This used to be hers. And if you'll let me, I'd like to give it to you."

Osh-ka glanced uncertainly at Tee, and he nodded once. Her eyes grew saucer wide as she took the lightsaber, closing both hands around it to keep from dropping it. It was too big for a child's hands yet, but she examined it with care. And Obi-Wan suspected it was not her first time holding such a weapon.

He stepped back and urged Tir-Zen to make space.

"You can turn it on, if you want," Obi-Wan told her. "But you must be careful."

Osh-ka gave him a steady, serious look—so like her father—and very deliberate flicked the lightsaber on.

The blade hummed to life with a sound that sent a chill through Obi-Wan's bones. The sound of his best moments, and his worst. Of a life lost. Of an age gone. The tiny hut filled with a golden glow that he hadn't seen in _so long._ He had rarely ever seen it. And the memory had almost faded out.

"It's beautiful . . ." Osh-ka's small voice sang, full of wonder.

Something cracked in Obi-Wan's chest, and he glanced over at Tir-Zen to find that he had a hand clamped over his mouth. And that he, too, was fighting back tears.

"Yes," he said as he met Tee's gaze. "It really is."


	33. Author's Note

Author's Note

The genesis of this story was the desire to take the framework of Anakin and Padme's love story and turn it into something that both felt like a love story and refuted the idea that romantic love must inevitably lead to the Dark Side.

I also wanted to explore the question: Why would Obi-Wan let Anakin's romance take place without trying to stop it? The answer, which I hope can be inferred from these pages, is that he had been in love himself once, and he didn't want to deny his best friend that same experience. Especially not when Anakin had personally witnessed that relationship, and so would have seen any sanctions against him as the height of hypocrisy.

And what of the Endless Gem? It has always been my intention that the gem found its way into Vader's suit. Why? Well, because we know that after his death Anakin became a Force ghost, but this ability is not inherent to just any Jedi. It was a technique that had to be learned. Qui-Gon Jinn learned it from the Ysanna, and during the Clone Wars he appeared to Yoda as a Force ghost and passed along his knowledge. Yoda taught it to Obi-Wan. But there was no record of him having passed it to Anakin during the Clone Wars, and once he became Vader, there was no longer an opportunity for the knowledge to reach him. If, however, he had long been in possession of a Sith artifact that could assist in the creation of a Force ghost, it could move his spirit. And being different from the techniques employed by Yoda and Obi-Wan, it would also explain why they discorporated and he did not.

However, I never found a way to fit this into the story itself.

If you had not guessed, the Sith responsible for killing Aylee and stealing the gem is Asajj Ventress. She returns the gem to Dooku, who passes it to Sidious for future use. She was also the shadowy force behind the civil war on Besk—an early experiment in the strategies that would eventually give rise to the Separatists and the Clone War.


End file.
